That Which is Gone Astray
by SolitAer
Summary: Disoriented. Hearing voices, well...A voice. Being hunted. Unable to remember...most things. Steve's in a fight for his life, and can't even remember his allies. Makes for a generally bad day.  Rated for mild language.  I promise whumpage.
1. Chapter 1

That Which is Gone Astray

_**Disclaimer:**_ This is a fan-made fictional story intended for entertainment purposes only. Original characters belong to the writer, me; all other characters belong to someone who isn't me. ):

One

_"Open your eyes. Wake up."_

Vaguely, he heard and recognized the voice. He didn't want to wake up, already felt pain flooding every part of his body from simply the awareness that someone was calling him. Waking up would hurt very, very much. Still, he couldn't do much to block out the persistent voice.

_"Come now, wake up. You have to move."_

_I don't want to,_ he insisted, cringing at the very breathy whine his voice—it was his voice even in his mind, right?—made. Instinct told him that the persistent one was right—that he needed to wake up, and move. He couldn't remember why just yet, but he knew that he had to move. Someone had made him promise to survive. He didn't remember who, but he had a pact with them. And he had sworn an oath, to protect…to protect his family. Right? His foggy brain struggled to piece together the pieces of his memory that he was clinging to—the only pieces he had left.

_"This shouldn't be so hard, not for you. Remember? You were born for this. You've lived this sort of life for years. You have to make it back. You promised that you would. Do you remember? Your partner, your team, the little girl…they are all waiting for you."_

He didn't remember much, he had to admit. But he decided to listen, that the voice _seemed_ trustworthy enough. Disoriented, unable to remember which way was up or down, he struggled to open his eyes. Water blurred his sight immediately, and for a moment he wondered just how he had gotten underwater. Then, his chest heaved and his lungs burned, starved for air. Automatically, instinctively, his arms and legs moved, kicking and stroking in a graceful, learned manner. He didn't panic—somehow, he knew that panicking would only make things worse. A hand broke the surface first, and he pushed himself upward until the precious, cool night air filled his lungs. Darkened blue eyes blinked, and scanned his immediate surroundings. He was nearby a dock, in a marina of some sort. The place looked familiar, but if he were being honest he would have to acknowledge the fact that he couldn't pinpoint his location at all. He started swimming toward the dock, noting the immediate hazard of the sharks that would be in these waters.

_"Keep going. Stop thinking, you have no time to slow down."_

He listened to the instructions, forcing aching muscles to move more quickly to push himself through the water. When he reached the dock, something urged him to move under it, and not over it. He did so, crawling onto the sand and coughing to clear his lungs of any debris that had gathered within them. A biting pain tore at his shoulder, leaving him weak and almost causing him to tumble. He managed to right himself, but immediately the burning at his shoulder was accompanied by several other immediate, searing hurts—one at his knee, one decorating his abdomen. There was a throbbing sensation at his temple, and it added to the mind-numbing headache that was spreading from his neck upward.

He relaxed against the cool sand below him, catching his breath. The aches and the sharp pains he felt did not ease, but grew sharper, awakening his senses and sending his thoughts flaring. Yet again, his instincts told him what it was he needed to do. He lifted his head once more, ignoring the protests of his body as he pushed himself upright and knelt, trying to regain some sense of his bearings. Immediately, he registered every nuance of sound that didn't seem to fit in with the rest: a scuffling of multiple feet against the sand and rock nearby, the faint clicking of a gun being loaded, the feverish whisperings of his pursuers, the crackling of a large fire somewhere nearby.

He knew all these sounds, but something was wrong. He could tell it as soon as he gained awareness—something was amiss. His thoughts, while focused on the task at hand, were still somehow disoriented, not giving him the information that he needed. Beaten, hurting, and failing to remember…what, exactly? What was he trying to remember?

He looked across the span of water, toward what remained of a small boat. The source of the fire, he realized, watching as the vessel slowly began to sink while black smoke billowed up from the blaze that engulfed it. He remembered that bit—that he had leapt into the water and that the explosion had pushed him further down. Who had been on the boat with him? Had he been there himself?

_"No time for that. They've gotten close. Move!"_

He shook himself free of his questions, and crouched low to the ground as he weaved his way toward the expanse of lush greenery nearby, ducking into the cover of the leaves before turning and seeking out the ones pursuing him. They were nearby—he saw them, dark-clad figures running down to the shoreline from the shadows, all armed. He counted ten of them, but recognized instantly that they weren't a normal team. Their movements didn't flow, they didn't synchronize quite like a tactical unit. Mercenaries, maybe.

He kept low in the leaves, listening as one of them whooped and laughed, "I can't believe we did it!"

"Shuddup, Jones," grumbled another—an older man, from the sounds of his gruff voice. "We didn't _do_ anything 'til we recover the body. He's a tough bastard to kill, and the boss wants proof of death."

"I'm not going out there to collect a body," retorted another. "I have a thing about water."

"Pansy," the first, Jones, laughed. "I'll go, Old Man. Where're the suits?"

They weren't giving him much information to go on, except that obviously only one of them seemed to know what he was doing. He knew that he ought to start moving; that he could use the time that the team wasted trying to find his body to put some breathing space between them. He could get rid of them now, if he'd kept his firearm. He touched his side where he knew his weapon typically sat, and silently rued its absence. Reaching around his back gingerly, he felt to see if he had the knife he also liked to keep handy—yet again, he was disappointed.

_"Just need to avoid them for the moment, remember. No need to take revenge just yet."_

Not that he knew what he was taking revenge _for_. He couldn't clearly remember it. He eased back and slipped into the shadows. The pain in his thigh hindered his progress—he would have to stop soon, and see to whatever it was. It was too dark to do anything about it yet—he pressed a hand against the hurt absently, wishing he could see how bad it was and what the nature of the wound was. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. When he noticed the blackish stain on the back of his hand as he lowered it, he paused in his slow trek, confused. He wished, yet again, that he could recall just what was so important that he struggled to grasp in his shadowy memories. Some event, something that had happened only recently that had set this whole thing off…he knew bits and pieces. There was something important, something he had to bring to mind before he could bother with the other details.

_"You want to remember them…your team. You want to remember who you are."_

His insides twisted uncomfortably. And suddenly he remembered all too clearly what he had been struggling with since this chase began. Something had happened to initiate everything, but when it did—when it did, he had stopped remembering important details. Like the name of the brunette child who grinned at him and offered him a shave-ice in his memories. Or the identity of each of his teammates, all of whom he trusted—all of whom he needed to return to, to take care of. Or his sister, the damaged young woman he had to look out for. Or…or…the woman with the dark hair, the one who had been lying so still on the floor, so still on the red carpet…

"I've got a trail here!"

He heard the distant call, and ignored the sudden clamping pain in his chest as he cursed and struggled to move more quickly. He hoped to hear more advice from the voice that had manifested somewhere in his mind, but the voice had grown still, waiting for his advancement. He pressed on, trying to formulate a plot all the while. There was no need for any of the others to lie as still as the dark-haired woman. He would make sure of that. As soon as he got his damned gun back.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N:_ First off, thanks everyone for your reviews! :) I've got this story like halfway done already (every event is in my head in chronological order) and will be banging it out on the keyboard as fast as I can. I don't know yet how long it's going to be, but if anyone has anything they think is missing or something they'd like to see please feel free to let me know! Thanks!

**_Disclaimer:_** I own only the Voice and my own original characters. (sigh)

Two

He'd made good time. He'd covered a lot of distance. He'd suffered in silence every painstaking and lightheaded step of the way, and dammit, he'd earned this. He settled down against the first tree he saw, dragging in deep breaths. The pain had started dull and achy, when he'd first woken after the explosion. Now, his entire body throbbed and literally seemed to pulse along with his racing heart, making it difficult to breathe as he had trekked through the dark forestry of the island's thick wilderness. He braced his good hand against his knee, hissing lowly in barely-restrained agony as the trials of the day continued to reveal themselves in the most uncomfortable ways. His chest felt as though someone had thrown a cannonball at him, and he rubbed the sore spot absently.

His fingers found three long slashes in his clothing, and traced over cuts beneath. He frowned, looking down at the wounds. He glanced from them to the injury on his thigh, and was surprised to find more blood there. That probably accounted for the sudden heaviness of his eyes, he figured as he leaned his head back against the tree and closed them.

_"Not yet. No sleeping yet. You need a clearer idea of what your wounds look like."_

He heaved a sigh, and forced his eyes open. The voice _did_ have a point, though he really wished that it would just go away. He carefully started to catalogue each bump, scrape, and bruise, judging the severity of the abrasions to assess what he would have to tend to first. The deep gash on his thigh seemed to be the worst for blood loss—the wound on his temple, while also significant, had at least stopped bleeding; as had the cuts across his chest. He felt along his shoulder, trying to find the reason for the pain that blossomed there. He could find no immediate reason for the pain in the front of his shoulder—and it seemed that the burning came from his shoulder blade, anyway. He would have to wait to deal with that one until he could see it.

Flexing his muscles experimentally, he listed all the other bruises he knew were there, but found no other serious injuries. He knew that he needed to be quick about treating what he could and get back on the move—the only thing keeping him upright was sheer adrenaline at this point, and things promised to get worse, very quickly. He reached for the hem of his button-down and started to rip it, pulling loose several makeshift bandages before he went to work on the gash around his thigh. Satisfied that he was no longer leaving a trail of blood for the enemy to follow, he hoisted himself to his feet.

The change in position brought a swift wave of nausea and dizziness—he reached out and caught hold of the tree, using it to steady himself as he regained a sense of balance. A chill wind sent shivers down his spine, once again urging him onward. He could hear the distant sounds of voices calling, shouts—some angry.

That alone brought about the urge to build a plan. He looked ahead into the darkness, peering into the shadows of the lush forest. He knew this place—he'd known this place since he was a child.

_"Yes. Think about it. You know where you have to go. You know what will help you."_

Yes. He did know. He looked ahead, imagining the steep incline that he would soon have to face in order to reach his goal. With a slight sigh, he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. He would beat them. He would win this. It would start at the cliffs.

* * *

"This is a _freaking_ island. It is not difficult to figure that he cannot have gone that far. There is _ocean_ on all sides of this place. And unless he _is_ a freaking superhero, I highly doubt that he could have found a way off the island in under 15 hours. So why aren't we finding him?" Danny Williams shot a glare toward the nearest officer of HPD that they were borrowing for the search. The officer wilted visibly under his stony gaze, and shrank back, dropping his gaze to the ground as a child chastised might.

"Brah, that's not helping anyone," Chin mumbled aside to Danny as the blond continued to fume. Danny ignored him, feeling less-than-charitable but not wanting to further agitate his teammate. They were arranged in a circle around the hood of the Camaro, a map of the island spread atop the hood with markers between the McGarrett household and their current location signaling areas that they had already searched. Perimeters had been set up then widened to include road blocks along not only the main roads but also the alternative accesses. Danny couldn't figure out where Steve could have gotten to.

_And why the hell didn't he call me?_ Danny wondered, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. He sighed slightly, and narrowed his gaze again on the officers surrounding him. "Okay. Widen the perimeter again. Send in a team from the north to sweep through the forests here," he said, pointing at the green areas on the map, "and don't stop until you've reached the water. The Coast Guard will be searching there…" He finished, then studied the map for a moment longer. McGarrett was going to seriously feel his wrath once they found the idiot…and they _would_ find him. Of that Danny was confident. He looked up, and his gaze sharpened when he noticed the younger officers still studying him. "Well? Go!" he suggested in a less-than-friendly tone, shooing them with a motion of his hands.

The officers split up, scattering quickly with backward glances toward the detective. Chin made a noise of discontentment, but said nothing. Danny recalled the last few hours with an inward growl. When Steve hadn't shown up at 5-0's HQ that morning, he had been a little concerned. When Steve hadn't answered his cell phone the umpteenth time Danny had tried dialing it, Danny had admitted to some anxiety. When Mary Ann had called him, sobbing and talking about 'men with guns' and 'explosions,' Danny had become mildly panicked.

But when he, Chin, and Kono had arrived at what had been the McGarrett household, Danny became furious.

Half of the ceiling had collapsed inward on the house. The house was groaning, looking charred and beaten. Mary was sitting curled on the ground nearby, still clutching the cell phone with the back of her hand pressed against her mouth to withhold any sobs that escaped her shuddering body. Chin and Kono had gone straight to her, trying to extract any information they could from her while assessing her for any injury she may have received. From what Danny could tell, there wasn't a scratch on her. He moved toward the house, weapon drawn though he didn't think he was going to need it. Whatever had happened here, had already blown over.

"Steve?" Danny called nonetheless, hoping for some sort of response as he carefully entered the house. "Partner? You in here?" He looked back over his shoulder, making an obligatory sweep of each room as he passed through it. He didn't go to the side of the house that had caved in, but ventured toward Steve's room upstairs. Nudging the door open with his foot, he looked around—then noticed the coppery, bitter smell of blood before his eyes met the prone figure on the floor.

"Oh, fuck…"

He hurried to the red-stained carpet and knelt by the body of the woman, reaching for a pulse though he knew from the white tone of her skin and the wide, blank eyes that he wouldn't find one. He sighed heavily and holstered his weapon, folding a fist against his chin to silently wander through the questions forming in his mind.

"Danny…!" Chin joined him in Steve's bedroom and trailed off into silence as he saw the body on the floor. "Is that…?"

"Yeah…it's Lieutenant Rollins."

The scene had been quickly processed after finding Cat's body, but Danny couldn't figure out for the life of him who would do this to Steve. It wasn't like the man didn't have enemies—God help him, Danny knew that better than anyone. But the amount of damage to the house that told of an explosion, the murdered body of Steve's "significant other," the wilted form of his sister, suffering from emotional shock in the hospital—Steve's absence? There were still too many questions left unanswered.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. _Only Steve McGarrett. If not a case that involves him, we'd have had the bastards already. Or at least we'd've found Steve by now. But no, noooo, can't have anything go easily when SuperSEAL McGarrett's involved…_

"Need a minute to get through that, brah?"

Danny blinked his eyes open and turned a confused look to Kono, who smiled at him in slight amusement. "What? Oh—yeah, what've you got, Kono?"

"Coast Guard just found a half-sunken yacht out on the marina, looks to them like someone blew it up—the yacht was registered to Jack McGarrett. Looks like we've got the last known location of one Steve McGarrett."

Danny immediately scooped up the map off the hood of the Camaro, giving Kono a pleased look as he threw it into the car and slid into the driver's seat. "I could kiss you, you know that?"

Kono laughed, "Save that for after we find the boss. Chin and I'll be right behind you."

* * *

He paused for a moment, leaning heavily against a tree to catch his breath. He just needed a minute. He needed to gather his thoughts and find the cave he was looking for at the base of the cliffs. He looked up, seeking any sign of light through the canopy above. He was at the thickest part of the forest now, right at the foot of the cliffs. He'd explored these areas as a child, whenever he was free from babysitting duty from his sister…

Well, that was something, at least. He remembered more about his sister.

_"You can't spend all day trying to will yourself to remember. You want to remember who you are? Get through this—survive, and I will give you the most pertinent piece of information you want."_

"Well, what's that?" he asked, then regretted it instantly. His mouth was dry, his throat itched. He would have to find water if he hoped to get through this without heat exhaustion or worse. The sun had risen long ago, and the chill of the night had been replaced with the muggy heat of the day. He paused for a moment to brush sweat from his face, careful to avoid the bloody side, and listened for the response to his question.

_"Your name. You want to know your name."_

_That would help things, yes,_ he thought bitterly. He could not identify himself, or any of the people whose faces gathered at the forefront of his mind. He couldn't remember them, but he couldn't let them go—they were all he had left, all he had to tie what pieces he could together. His leg was hurt and bleeding and his head hurt and he was beginning to lose momentum in his search for the caves that would lead him to what he hoped would be a good tactical evasion.

_"Keep moving, keep moving! They are getting close again. You need time to prepare if you plan to try it this way…"_

If he ever met the owner of the voice in his head, he would probably hit them, he decided. The aching in his head now pulsing rhythmically with the waves of nausea that overtook him, he pushed himself away from his perch against the tree and moved slowly toward the caves.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: _See, like I said, all about banging it out. Again, thanks everyone for your really great feedback! :) I'm sorry I killed Cat, really I am! It was her or Mary, I needed someone gone to add to the trauma poor Steve's going through...and for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to kill the last blood relative poor Steve has left...so...I'm sorry! I hope you guys are enjoying this...I'm getting a clearer idea of how long it's going to take to get to the finish line... (nervous look) Well, enjoy!

**_Disclaimer:_** Yet again, I own no part of H50, and the only characters in this fic that I claim are the baddies and the Voice. And any other random passersby that get caught into my insane drama.

Three

The Old Man, they called him. He was the most-experienced mercenary on this unit, and never gave his true name. Most likely why they chose to nickname him at all—just for the benefit of having _something_ to call him. He was the only one who was in direct contact with the Boss. That was for the Boss's benefit—although he had chosen the team the Old Man was on, he wanted nothing further to do with them until it was time to pay them for a job well done.

Only problem he had with this? That meant _he_ got the ass-chewing when the Boss wasn't happy.

"What do you mean, he managed to escape?"

The Boss was _definitely_ not happy.

"Well, Boss, it would appear that your Lieutenant-Commander is fire-resistant, or maybe he's got nine lives. Maybe you want I should execute him the old-fashioned way, 'stead of makin' a big show of it?"

"I didn't hire you for your sarcasm, Gunner. I hired you to take McGarrett out. What is it that team is _doing_? Two explosions and you _still_ haven't touched him?"

Gunner. Alias. He'd forgotten which one he gave to the Boss-Man. "Oh, we touched 'im, all right. He's been lashed, shot at, cut open, and beaten half-to-death. We're currently tracking him through these fancy tropics here. Shouldn't be too long, Sir. Though…for the sake of sayin' it, I would've done better at this mission flying solo." He studied his nails as he spoke, frowning at a piece of dirt under one of them and taking the time to pick at it. He'd always managed to maintain casual civility during business, but truth be told he just didn't give a damn about the payer. He only took the job for the prey.

"I didn't hire you to say things for the sake of saying, either," his employer snapped. "Just get me McGarrett's head. You've already killed the girl?"

"Killed the only girl we found. Pretty young thing. Put up a helluva fight." He gave up on the dirt underneath his nail, and shifted the rifle on his shoulder so he could lean against the humvee more comfortably.

"Good. Call me when you've found him. And Gunner?"

"Yeah Boss?"

"Check yourself. You certainly aren't the only man on that team who has special instructions."

The call disconnected. The Old Man spat his distaste and shoved the phone into a pocket on his vest. A smirk melted over his features, and his watery gray eyes grew mirthful. _So it's a hunt, then a brawl. I like that. Like it a lot. _He flipped the rifle into both hands, and moved to join the younger folk ahead of him. They didn't know squat about what they had coming.

* * *

_"Ten more steps. You only need to go ten more steps."_

He ignored the voice and absently swatted at his ear, realizing that it sounded like a buzzing in his ear now more than it did an echo in his mind. His head hurt. His entire body hurt. He wasn't so confident in this plan now as he had been once before. If he couldn't _stand_ to do anything, how the hell was he supposed to stop ten armed men using the complicated system of caves and cliffs?

_"You've already worked this out. You know what you have to do. Now, count them with me…ten more steps."_

He gave a sigh, and for a moment wished he had a name to acknowledge the voice by, that way he'd at least have something he could latch onto to swear at.

_"Let's say 'Gabby.'"_

"Gabby?" he stopped and asked out loud. That wasn't exactly a name befitting any part of his mind, and he certainly wasn't about to acknowledge that a figment of his imagination had thought so.

_"Think about it. Gabby, as in one who talks a lot. You'd use it. And who says I'm a figment of your imagination?"_

Now he _knew_ he was concussed. But at this point, it was something. He didn't even offer a response to the voice's—'_Gabby's'_—statements, knowing that acknowledging voices wasn't exactly going to do him any good. He counted out each step as he finally trudged forward. Five steps in he realized he was counting under his breath as he pushed through the heavy ferns and leaves from trees above.

Seven, eight…

Ten steps in, he stumbled into a stream. It was the stream at the entrance of the cave. It was a stream full of water. He knelt, scooping a handful of the stuff up, then remembered something which had his brow furrowing. _"…microbes that'll put a man down in an hour…"_

_"Different forest, different island, but good job. You remembered something else."_

He scooped water into his mouth greedily, letting the cool fluid soothe his burning throat. He wished he had more time, but two mouthfuls of water later he realized he needed to get into the cave and up the incline. He checked his chest and thigh—neither were bleeding, though the wound at his temple seemed to be getting worse. Biting back another wave of nausea, he climbed to his feet and stumbled into the cave mouth.

These were the more-dangerous caves, and didn't sport the same strings of lighting that their tourist attraction counterparts did. He treaded carefully, trailing his fingers along the walls of the cave as he went to ascertain he was headed in the right direction. Like an intricate memory game, his mind mapped out the junctures in the deep tunnels ahead. He knew where to turn to keep from going too far into the caves and losing oxygen, knew when to climb to higher altitudes, and knew where the caves would open up to the cliffs above. He just had to play this carefully—he wanted to lose some of them, if he could, and the best ways were to lose them in the depths of the caves, or off the face of the cliffs.

But now came the hard part. He was unarmed, and had no supplies to speak of. He would need to lie low, find a place where he was sure to be able to pick one off, quickly and quietly. They would have to split up, he knew, in order to explore the various passages in which he had chosen to make his stand. He assessed his injuries again, realizing he would have to hope for the best—that one of the younger, inexperienced ones would fall into his first trap.

There were areas of the tunnels that shifted from horizontal to vertical and became sudden deep drops. He knew of all these areas, and treaded very carefully near them. The first one he encountered was in an area so deep and dark making a visual of the drop before the last possible moment would be difficult. It was a good place to stage an ambush, and it was one of the main passages—someone would inevitably have to come through here.

_"There is a crevice in the rock, to your right…you should hide there."_

He felt along the cracks, wondering how his mind could have conjured up the very correct information without the assistance of his sense of sight. Perhaps his partner had been right, he thought with a dry smile. Perhaps he _was_ superhuman.

He ducked into the crevice 'Gabby' had informed him of, and pressed his palm to his forehead, hoping to alleviate the pain somewhat as he settled in for the long haul.

* * *

Danny's good mood had deteriorated upon arriving at the scene of what appeared to be McGarrett's _second_ run-in with whoever was after him this time. As he surveyed the damage done to the sunken yacht, waiting for the crane and tugboat to pull it to shore, he cursed mentally. And cursed again.

Then he glanced aside at Chin and Kono, talking to various officers and looking more and more upset and grim, and cursed some more.

Chin's face was set in ominous stone when he finally motioned to his cousin and both Hawaiians joined the blonde detective. "Well, what've we got?" Danny asked with a sigh, tucking his hands under his arms as he anticipated the worst.

"They found several sets of tracks and a light blood trail, all headed north toward the cliffs," Chin explained. "The boat seems to have sank sometime in the hours just before dawn. If we're lucky, they're maybe a few hours ahead of us at best."

"What the hell is McGarrett doing?" Danny wondered, furrowing his brow. "I wish we had a better picture of what happened." He glanced at Kono. "Any word on Mary's condition?"

"She's still sedated," Kono responded. "Doc Finn said she would be setting Mary up with a counselor as soon as she wakes up, to try and piece together some of what Mary told us."

"What about the usual suspects for McGarrett-related violence?" Danny queried then, rubbing a hand over his face.

"If any of our leads knows anything about a connection between this and the cases we've been covering, they're not talking." Chin sounded equally as frustrated as Danny, and the three took a moment of silence to sort through their individual thoughts.

"You think that this could be someone the boss used to know?" Kono suggested suddenly. "I mean, Steve did bring a pile of enemies along with him when he volunteered to run 5-0."

"It's a theory," Danny agreed. "But until we get more information, we don't really have much of an idea about anything that's going on."

"Sir!" The team turned as a single unit to see a younger officer running toward them, waving an evidence bag at them like a beacon. "Sir," the kid panted, pausing to press his hand to his knee and present the evidence bag to Danny. "Bomb squad says that the explosive device used was comprised of an electrically-primed detonator and C4, sir. They said to tell you that it looks like a 'hell box,' sir."

Danny gave the young officer a skeptical look, then looked at the remnants of the explosive. "They said to tell me? What, you're all drawing straws now or something?" he asked. The officer's face paled and he stared wide-eyed at the detective for a beat longer than was comfortable. Danny's skeptical look turned into one of outrage. "You're drawing straws to see who has to come talk to me?" he demanded.

"S-s-sir, only d-delivering the message, sir!" the kid stuttered. Danny took note of his nametag, which read 'Tanner,' then narrowed his gaze at the kid.

"So, Officer Tanner, what's a 'hell box'?" he asked, reigning in his temper in favor of his curiosity.

Tanner blinked. "It's, uh…a quick detonation device that the SEALs use, sir." He gave Danny an awkward look then, biting the corner of his mouth.

The SEALs. Okay. The SEALs. So. Either McGarrett had crafted the explosive himself, or Kono was onto something. Danny glared at the remnants of the metal box that had blown up the yacht, trying very hard to pull something together from the tidbits of information that he had.

"Okay, you know what? How long will it take to drive to the cliffs?" Danny asked Chin.

"Double the time it would take to cut through the forest, and we're already behind."

"Then let's cut through the forest. Tanner!" he snapped, turning to point his finger at the younger man's face. "Gather up the rest of the forces here and tell them we're going through the forest up to the cliffs."

"The cliffs?" Tanner echoed.

"Didn't know you had a hearing problem, kid. Let me repeat it once more." He gestured with his hands in a sharp cutting motion as he spoke. "We are going to _cut_ through the woods—" With this, he turned to point both fingers north. "—to the _cliffs_. I need all units available going with us. Whoever's left needs to drive up there—we may need an ambulance on standby."

Tanner blinked again, then nodded. He turned and dashed off, leaving Chin shaking his head as Danny huffed. "God, Kono—how come you're the only rookie on this godforsaken island who doesn't need to be told twice?" he demanded.

"I was trained by the best, sir," Kono returned.

"Suit up, grab what you can carry. Let's go get our boy."

* * *

Old Man Gunner did _not_ like it. Nope. Not a single bit. He looked at his enthusiastic teammates, then looked back at the set of tracks they were following, which led right into the cave.

"This should be a piece of cake," Jones smirked cockily. The Old Man glared at him. Kid had a baby face and big blue eyes, like one of those Gerber commercials. He was way too young for this line of work. Too inexperienced. He'd be the first offed by the SEAL if they went inside this network of caves.

The other men on the team were caught somewhere between Gunner's caution and Jones' eagerness. Jackson, Spike, Sparky, Leon, Ballard, Trenton, Nicholas, and Steel. The group of men had only one thing in common—they were all hired hitmen. None of them had the steely look in their eyes that bespoke of experience killing someone, a fact that the Old Man recognized easily. And, from his conversation with the Boss earlier, he also knew that at least one of them—probably two—had the additional command to kill everyone else. Strange, that the Boss would think to warn him about the cleaner. Maybe he wanted the Old Man in on the cleaning.

Well, here was a perfect opportunity to appease the Boss, and to get the final kill for himself.

They'd already lost five men to McGarrett's superior skills as a SEAL. What was another ten? The Old Man smirked. He was glad to know he'd be getting the last shot at the Lieutenant-Commander. He'd certainly enjoyed making the pretty little girl scream, just as much as he'd enjoyed the look in McGarrett's eyes when he saw the body.

Though, the Old Man had to admit, something was bothering him. There had been a fire, a fury in the SEAL's eyes then, something the Old Man was familiar with. The urge, no—the _need_ to kill, to completely obliterate any living creature he encountered. That fury seemed to have dimmed now. Since he'd blown up McGarrett's backup escape, he had noticed a different sort of energy in the SEAL's movements now. Then, it had been merely to gain some space and reclaim some sort of weapon so he could kill the unit hunting him.

Now, he was acting strategically. Like a SEAL was supposed to do.

He decided he didn't have time to let it get to him. He wanted a shot at the SEAL, wanted it bad. He also wanted to know just how good this guy really was. And he was going to find out.

He smiled disarmingly toward Jones and the others, who grinned in response. As usual, they misread his intentions in his confident grin. "Jones," the Old Man barked, "split these men up into three units and make your move. I want every inch of those caverns covered until we find the sonuvabitch."

"Yes _sir_," Jones saluted with a cheeky smirk.

_Yep,_ the Old Man thought as he watched the cocky little snot. _He's gonna die first._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N:_ And again, thanks everyone for your reviews! Just as an FYI, I'm not planning on Steve becoming a suspect. I am, however, probably going to raise a few eyebrows in this chapter. Still on a roll, hope you guys still enjoy it...you might hate me pretty soon.

On a side note, I'm having difficulty deciding whether the amnesia Steve is suffering from is dissociative amnesia (meaning completely psychological) or post-traumatic amnesia (from his head wound). Leaning toward the physical, because Steve doesn't strike me as the type to let trauma bother him (I mean, the guy was on the phone with his dad when he died and instead of curling into a little ball went straight to Hawaii to find Hesse, so...). Anyway, let me know what you think! :) Thanks all!

**_Disclaimer:_** No, I don't own Steve or Danny or Kono or Chin or the HPD. I only claim the original characters in this roller-coaster ride.

Four

Jones, Jackson, and Leon were moving through the tunnels at a leisurely pace, Jones whistling a tune as he carried his assault rifle against his shoulder, butt resting in the crook of his arm. Jackson and Leon exchanged a look, faintly illuminated by the glow of the lights mounted to their rifles as they swept the area ahead of them.

Jones gave up his tune to chuckle. "I can't wait to find this moron and put him out of his misery." He laughed. "Then maybe I'll put a bullet between that old man's eyes."

"Shouldn't talk like that about the Old Man, Jones," Leon warned. "He hasn't survived this long because of his good looks. The rumor is he used to run with the SEALs, just like McGarrett."

"That's the rumor, huh?" Jones became thoughtful. "Guess that explains why he's so gung-ho about being 'tactical.'" He laughed again.

"Look, Jones, we're trying to find a former-SEAL, here?" Jackson growled, turning to poke Jones in the chest. "Try to quiet it down a little, eh? Stealth is probably going to be key to taking this guy out."

Jones grinned, and put up his hands placatingly. "All right, Jackson, all right, I'll be quiet," he cajoled. Jackson snarled at him, and turned to pick up his gun again.

"Good."

"Keep alert, guys," Leon advised. "I don't like surprises. And from this guy's track record so far, I'd say we can expect some more surprises from this guy." Leon moved a few yards ahead, sweeping the scope of his light over the passages. He paused, and grunted in displeasure. "Hey. We have a problem here."

Jackson and Jones joined him, frowning at the fork in the passages, splitting from one tunnel to two. Jones guffawed, "That's not a problem!" He smirked sidelong at the other men with him. "I'll take the right, you two can go left."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Leon asked reluctantly.

"Hey, it's not like either of you want to go with me, anyway." When neither could deny the statement, Jones smirked. "This way, everyone gets what they want, and we cover more ground looking for the SEAL."

There was a moment's hesitation in the other two, then Jackson nodded. "Fine. Go twenty minutes into the tunnel, then turn and meet us back here."

"Yep. No problem." Jones waved at them over his shoulder, and brought down his gun to flick on his own light. He heard his teammates mutter behind him before they moved into the darkness on their own, and smirked to himself as he picked up his whistling tune. Spoilsports. Never knew how to put a good time into a good kill.

Jones went around a slight turn in the cave, and journeyed deeper, careful to monitor his breathing as he whistled. He was getting bored, he had to admit. It had been nearly five hours now since they'd blown the yacht in the marina. He longed for some more fireworks, something to set his blood to blazing. If not for the Old Man, he'd have put some serious thought into taking out his teammates, just to ease his boredom. He had a bit of an incline, and he lowered his weapon to point the light toward the ground.

Good thing he did, or he might have missed the sudden downward drop at the end of the passage.

"Whoa!" Jones jerked backward, falling away from the edge of the pit. His weapon fell from his hands, and he scooted himself backward, muttering curses until he was certain he was safe from the fall. "Jesus, Jonesy. That was close," he murmured to himself, then laughed. "Better watch it there, can't risk losing this beautiful body."

He climbed up onto his knees, then reached for his assault rifle—only to find that it had vanished. With a slightly puzzled half-pout, he slowly lifted his head to turn back toward the front of the cave. He only had time to jerk his arm upward. It still wasn't fast enough to stop the butt of his own gun from colliding with his forehead.

And then all was black.

* * *

He gathered off the fallen man what he could, taking his Kevlar vest, combat knife, side arm, backup gun, and of course the assault rifle. He checked all the weapons to ascertain whether or not the magazines were full, then suited up, patting the man down until he found zip-ties in his pocket. He tied the man's ankles and wrists, and moved.

_"Quickly. You did a wonderful job not killing that one but there are others who are more dangerous than him in here with you…a shame they don't have any night vision on them…"_

Though he was annoyed at the continual presence of 'Gabby's' opinions, he actually agreed this time. What he wouldn't give for a pair of goggles…the cave, though he likely knew how to navigate it better than the team that was after him, was still full of dangerous obstacles he had to keep an eye out for as well as the enemies. He rolled his sore shoulder as it protested suddenly to each movement he made, but pushed aside the pain and the faintness behind his eyes and forced himself to focus. With the adrenaline rushing, he'd be able to make it through these guys. He had to.

He could hear movement back near the fork in the cave passage, scuffling through the shallow pools of water as the drip-drip of cave kisses falling echoed around him. He slowed his movements, lowered his breathing until he was confident he could move more quietly than his quarry could detect. He crept along the cave wall, crouching low when he neared the bend.

Ahead, he could hear two men murmuring quietly.

"_Jones_." The name was ground out like a dark curse, and the owner of the voice gave a sigh of immense irritation. "Whose brilliant idea was it to bring him onto the team? Was it the Old Man?"

"Not sure, Jackson," responded his comrade, tone calmer. The second would give him some trouble, he knew immediately. Best to take him down first. He eased to peer around the corner and saw one of the two men, the one called Jackson, fiddling with his assault rifle's lamp.

"Dammit," Jackson hissed. "I swear, Jones did something to my damn light when we were headed over here. Thing keeps going wonky. Help me fix this, will ya Leon?"

Leon, the more-watchful of the pair, snorted. "You've got my light. Just turn it off until we get this done. I'm not taking my eyes off this place. Too many shadows for my liking."

"You spooked, man?" Jackson sounded mildly amused. "Didn't think anything could spook _you_."

"I don't like caves. Too many places for watching eyes to be hiding," Leon clipped off. The men fell silent, Jackson shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before Leon gave a growl. "Where the hell is Jones?"

"Think he got lost?" Jackson asked, again sounded a little too mirthful. He turned to throw his gun over his shoulder, finally giving up on the light.

"I don't know, but…"

There was a sudden grunt that accompanied the sound of two objects colliding, then the clatter of metal hitting the stone floor. Jackson turned back to find his comrade's rifle laying on the ground, but then all was dark as the collision knocked the lamp out. Without hesitation, Jackson frantically threw his weapon up to his shoulder, turning every which way as he backed until he bumped into the cool cave wall.

_Shit._ "Leon?" he called quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "Leon! Can ya hear me, man?"

There was a sharp _crack!_ that resounded through the damp cave, and somehow Jackson grew aware that Leon wasn't going to answer. He held his breath, feeling his face grow clammy as he strained his eyes to see further in the darkness. He swung the barrel of his rifle toward what he thought was a shadow darting around him, and in a panic began to fire at the perceived movement.

He fired six shots, then froze, hoping to hear the telltale signs that he had hit something. Instead, he was shocked when something wrapped around his throat, and he was violently jerked back into a firm, unyielding surface. Warm breath tickled at his ear, "Bet you wish your boss woulda put out for some night vision optics, huh?"

Jackson barely had time to try and reach for the radio strapped to his vest before the arm gripping his throat tightened, increasing in pressure until his body shut down from the lack of air.

The wounded SEAL let Jackson's body slide to the ground, and fell back against the cave wall, panting for breath. When he'd tackled Leon, he hadn't expected the man to get in a punch to his ribs, and now breathing hurt ten times as badly as it had before. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the afflicted area, and hissed in pain when he felt the crunch of what were hopefully bruised, maybe fractured ribs down his right side.

Ah, well. Not much to do for a fractured rib except go to the hospital. And he was pretty sure that he had no way of getting to a hospital, not until he dealt with the other men in the caves, at least.

The first part of his plan had been a success, and he rewarded himself with a quick break after he bound Jackson and Leon's wrists together behind their backs and tied one of each of their ankles together to further hinder movement.

_"That's going to be one interesting time for your partner when he gets to book those guys later."_

He gave an involuntary smile, and slid to the cave floor. Somehow, he was still able to remember that this was funny, though he couldn't remember why. Nonetheless, he nodded. _Agreed._

_

* * *

_

Danny got the sudden, irritated feeling in the back of his mind that he usually got when his partner spoke the forbidden phrase he had grown to loathe. He took a moment to pause, glancing around as though Steve would pop out from behind the nearest tree with his damn ninja-reflexes and grin cheekily, "Book 'im, Danno!"

Not that Steve had any reason to be grinning. Danny could only imagine what the SEAL had been through, judging from the state of his house, his father's boat, his sister, and poor Cat. They were all of them going through hell; the only reason the 5-0 team had held things together so far was that they knew they needed to remain optimistic. For Steve's sake. For Danny's sake. Hell, for the sake of the team.

"Hey, you okay?" Kono called to him, pausing when she noticed his hesitation.

Danny glanced around him once again, and nodded in response to her question. "Yeah. We getting any closer at all? These damned mosquitoes—Reason Number 42 that I hate this hellhole, by the way—are eating me alive!"

"We're about halfway there," Chin replied while Kono offered a faint smile in response to Danny's lighthearted banter.

Danny grumbled under his breath, and continued on his path of kicking low-hanging branches and swatting the higher ones out of his way. _Reason Number 43—every-freaking-thing in this place grows at all levels! Trees are supposed to be high. HIGH. Bushes shouldn't be higher than your knees. GOD I miss my cityscape._

Somehow, ranting to himself made it easier to deal with the bugs feasting on him and the distance that still separated him and the place where his partner had _better damned-well be_. Grace had called him when they had first started their jaunty hike through the woods, wondering if her daddy had found Uncle Steve yet. Danny had felt his heart break when she said, obviously disappointed but still full of innocent hope, "Don't worry Danno, you'll find him. Uncle Steve knows you're coming for him, he'll let you know where he is!"

And so he was trekking through a mosquito-infested tropical forest, feeling sticky and hot and dirty, because dammit, his little girl believed Steve would let them know where he was. Steve better not make Gracie a liar. If he did, Danny would find several ways to make the man suffer. Maybe he'd leave his sorry ass in the hospital for a week—he was sure Steve would have to go, at least to get checked out. The blood trail they were following, though it had petered out some time ago, had been proof enough of that.

He had started to think of a list of other ways to make his partner miserable when his cell began to ring. Fortunately, the ringtone wasn't Grace's or Rachel's. He dug the phone out of his pocket, almost laughing at the fact that he actually had reception out here, and checked the number. Unfamiliar, but maybe it was the governor? She'd certainly kept Kono on the phone long enough earlier.

"Detective Williams here," he said in way of greeting.

"Good afternoon, Detective." The silky, obviously female voice sounded cordial but unfamiliar. He'd have recognized Governor Jameson's voice, or that of Laura Hills.

"Yeah, afternoon. I'm sorry, this is…?" Chin gave Danny an odd look, and Danny shrugged in response. If this was one of Rachel's lawyers, calling at a time like this… His blood boiled momentarily.

"I'm sorry, Detective. My name is Briella Engel. I'm an associate of Governor Jameson."

Oh, joy. Another one of the governor's lovely associates. "That's great, Miss Engel. I'm really sorry, but I'm kind of in the middle of something here—"

"Yes, I know. The search for Lieutenant-Commander McGarrett." Briella's tone was cool. "That would be the matter I was hoping to discuss with you."

Danny held the phone away from his ear, casting a skyward glance with a heavy, dramatic sigh. Chin and Kono had both walked nearer, and he mouthed to them, "Governor's lackey." Chin raised an eyebrow. Kono gave him an odd look.

He returned the phone to his ear, just as Briella continued, "I'm going to be meeting you at the cliffs, along with the patrols you sent out there."

"That's nice of you, Miss Engel, but I assure you, there's no need for a diplomat to be where we're going—"

"I'm actually a doctor, Detective. I've worked with your commander before." There was an amused lilt to her voice now, like she was just about to tell him a joke.

And okay, _now_ she had his attention. "Excuse me?"

"You needn't worry, Detective Williams—"

"Call me Danny," he said, waving his other hand distractedly, "it'll shorten this whole conversation."

"Danny, then," Briella corrected herself. "There should be little cause for worry. I'm just going to meet you there as a precaution. Mr. McGarrett was a client of mine a short time ago, and it is my responsibility to make sure he is stable at the end of this."

"I'm sorry, what kind of doctor did you say you were?" Danny asked, not quite catching on.

"I'm a psychiatrist, Danny."

Well. That was interesting. "And you worked with Steve before?" Danny pressed. "And you're coming to meet us at the cliffs?" This case was becoming ridiculous—and it failed to really, truly surprise him. _Such is life with McGarrett._ Not that he knew that this chick was actually a psychiatrist. Or that she actually worked with Steve at any point in time. He pursed his lips incredulously.

"That would be correct. Now, Danny, when you meet up with Mr. McGarrett…I want you to remember one thing."

"And what would that be?" Danny asked, feeling his level of irritation rise.

"He may not recognize you. Make him remember you." Before Danny could even begin to acknowledge what _that_ meant, Briella added, "I'll see you at the cliffs, then, Detective. Good luck."

The call was disconnected before Danny could gather his thoughts enough to splutter a protest. "What the hell?" he asked, glaring at the phone. He looked up at the nudge of his shoulder, meeting Chin's curious gaze.

"Gonna fill us in, Danny?"

"Sure. But let me say, for the record, this day just keeps getting weirder and freaking weirder. I keep expecting to see a tea party with a weirdo in a hat and a huge rabbit around here." He filled in his teammates on the odd conversation as they pressed on, and if any of them noticed that their footsteps quickened in response to the ominous advice from the mysterious caller, none commented.

* * *

Briella Engel ended the call, glancing ahead to her driver. "We need to hurry, Michael," she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. The dark-haired man nodded, and she heard the engine hum as he accelerated. She hazarded a look out the window, her fingers steepling against her knee.

"Have you even called the governor?" Michael asked, looking over the rim of his dark sunglasses to meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. Briella smiled at him, her sky blue eyes alight. "You haven't, have you?" Michael surmised. When his passenger looked out the window, obviously ignoring him, he huffed. "Brie, you know how important it is that we stick to the main plan!"

"_You_ are the one who was supposed to have been looking after things here," Briella shot back. "That plan was _yours_. I am not going to subject Steven to any more suffering due to _your_ lack of understanding of what our job entails. If I can keep Governor Jameson out of this as much as possible, she will have no reason to suspect that Steven is less than fit to do his work. As it stands, you have a bit of work to do. You _and_ your partner."

Michael gave her a look. "He is _so_ not my partner."

"Funny, since you're both getting the blame from the boss for overlooking _his_ return to Hawaii," Briella said pointedly. Michael's face paled considerably, and she narrowed her gaze at him. "Just shut up, and drive. I need to get there by the time they reach Steven."

"Yes, ma'am," Michael muttered sarcastically, pressing the accelerator to the floor.

Briella rolled her eyes in the back seat, then closed them, awaiting their arrival.

* * *

_"Ah-ah, no falling asleep now."_

He righted himself with a start at the sound the voice buzzing at his ear. Startled, he swept the area with a wide-eyed gaze, only growing calm when his eyes landed on the still-unconscious forms of Jackson and Leon. Damn—when had he dozed off? Blinking hard to clear his eyes of the last remnants of sleep, he took up the weapons he'd stripped off the duo before him and tucked away the extra ammunition he'd found stowed in their vests. Three down, seven to go.

_Phase Two, cause confusion among the masses._

With a glance at the flares in his hand and a deep intake of air, he realized exactly what he had to do next. His head pounded at the thought—it was definitely going to hurt, if he didn't do it right.

_"Best plant the flares and try to be careful…light them from the cliffs, perhaps."_

And even then, he knew that it could still be dangerous. He made his way stealthily through the caves, pocketing the flares and prepared to face any adversary he encountered.

He hoped this worked.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: _Thanks guys! Your feedback has been amazing! Hopefully, some things will be addressed in this chapter that caused for concern before...we'll see.

BTW, just to let everyone know, I took some liberties with a couple things in this story. Firstly, not a cave expert lol. I have some idea of the many flammable gases and substances within a cave, but no idea what any of Hawaii's are. So, yes, there may be errors with that. Also, no, I'm not really aware if one trick in here would work in real life, and I don't know how to rig things to blow up, so might be a few errors there, too hehe… -ahem- Just FYI.

**_Disclaimer:_** Still don't own it.

Five

His work done, he moved to the cave mouth overlooking one of the higher cliffs, where he stumbled to a sitting position and caught his breath. The dizziness was becoming worse the longer he was on his feet—he attributed that to the injury to his ribs. He had, so far, managed to keep the nausea at bay, and was immensely proud of the fact—since the nausea had gotten so bad he'd taken to swallowing every so often just to make sure he didn't get sick in the middle of placing the flares.

'Gabby' had grown still in the last few minutes, apparently at rest while his mind was focused on a task he was familiar with. He looked around the opening of the cave he had chosen again, checking to make certain there was adequate cover both from the blast he was about to initiate and from any gunfire he might draw, for surely _someone_ would have been smart enough to stay outside and watch for any movement along the many cliffs and rocks.

Not for the first time, he wished he could have his teammates nearby—for the last firefight he'd drawn them into, they'd done admirably well and he remembered being overly-proud of them. _Especially the Rookie,_ he added mentally. Then a deep frown came over his features, as he remembered that this was probably for the best. No need to drag anyone else into this, no need to put people he knew were important to him in harm's way.

With a grumble of frustration, he decided he'd have to deal with the sudden surge of guilt and urgent responsibility later. Like when he could remember more about why he was feeling that way.

Forcing down another strike of nausea by swallowing thickly, he gingerly dabbed his sleeve against his sore forehead. He'd been highly disappointed to discover that not one of the guys he'd taken down, though otherwise equipped for what they were obviously assigned to do, had been carrying any first aid supplies on them. Cockily, he almost smirked. _Apparently they didn't know who they were dealing with._

A flash of dark hair and red carpet wiped the smirk away, and he blinked and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes at the vividness of the scene. The carpet wasn't always red, he knew. Something had stained it that way. The dark-haired woman's eyes weren't closed, he realized. She'd been staring lifelessly up at him, lips parted in a silenced plea.

And suddenly the pain wrenching in his chest had nothing to do with his injured ribs. He ducked his head, folding his hands together against his forehead and closing his eyes as if in prayer.

_"There was nothing more you could have done."_ The gentle insistence was not enough to drag him from the sudden flash of memories—his hands reaching for her, desperately trying to pump life back into her, shaking as they felt for the pulse that wasn't there and wasn't coming back. _"You did all that you could."_

"Shut up, Gabby."

He ignored the burning behind his eyes, and looked up over the curve of his hands toward the forest below him. A strange sensation flooded him, a sort of alertness that only came in that moment before a fist came flying or a trigger was pulled. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

Somewhere down there, he felt the instinctual pull of a predator's gaze. Someone was down there, seeking him out. Someone who would want to finish this one-on-one. He searched for the cause of the strange feeling, but knew he would never see the one he sought—not until he dealt with the other mercenaries inside the cave. He nodded, and a promise was made.

_You and me, we'll finish this later._

Now, at least, he had a way to channel all the anger and aggression that the ache in his chest brought about. He boxed the scene of the woman dead on the floor away in the deep corners of his mind. He had other matters to attend to.

Turning back to his work, he found himself relieved that he'd managed to take out one of the group who obviously had been assigned to carry the equipment necessary to rig explosives. He regretted the absence of C4, thinking maybe he'd like to return the hell's box gift he'd received earlier. Either way, he was ecstatic to find the flares and the cord he needed to tie and set them.

And now, it all came down to whether or not these guys would come running at the first sign of a possible struggle and whether or not he had calculated the locations of the flares correctly.

"Time for some fireworks."

Taking careful aim toward the corridor where he'd set the nearest flare, he shot three rounds into it.

* * *

The first time they heard it, they dismissed it as Jones horsing around. He'd already fired random shots at the McGarrett household, leading to Hummel's downfall. Spike had grown antsy, but had followed Ballard's barked order to keep moving.

The second round of shots being fired from somewhere within the cave had Spike glancing nervously sidelong at Ballard and Nicholas. "Who the hell would fire in here?" he muttered worriedly, and didn't get but a curious, questioning look from either of them before the whole damn place quaked.

The three men stumbled, Spike dropping to his knees on instinct to ride out the trembling in the cave floor. When it settled a few moments later, he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looked up into Ballard's narrowed gaze.

"I'm assuming _that_ was why you asked," Ballard deadpanned.

"Coal dust, man. _Explosive_ shit," Spike said, his voice unsteady and breathy.

"Noted. Thanks for sharing." Ballard turned from Spike toward Nicholas. "Well, Nick?"

"Could be a trap," Nicholas responded. "Basic tactics—confuse the enemy with a show and bring them right to your waiting hands."

"Feels a little dirty for a Navy-man…" Ballard didn't like tactics. He liked to judge a man by his character. Any other way just got too unpredictable for him.

"Don't know if you've noticed this, pal, but we're not exactly playing nice ourselves," Nicholas retorted matter-of-factly. "And this guy's like the Rambo of the Modern Age."

Ballard rubbed his chin thoughtfully, brow furrowed while Nicholas helped hoist Spike to his feet. "Okay. Well I'll bet you quarter of my cut on this job that that idiot Sparky went after the sound of the explosion first thing, fucking pyro."

"More than likely," Nicholas agreed flippantly.

"We'll hang back, see what the Big Bad SEAL does next," Ballard concluded. "Rest easy for the time being. We've sure as hell earned a break."

* * *

"Sparky, goddamn it!"

He smirked to himself, crouched low in the shadows of the area near where he'd set off the flares, causing the small explosion. The debris had stirred up a lot of smoggy, thick dust, making it hard to see even with the use of lights.

Unfortunately for the three men he heard approaching quickly, he didn't need to _see_ them.

"Sparky, this ain't the time for you to be pyrogasmin' over a _freakin'_ explosion!" hissed the distinctly Texan-accented voice. "We are in the _middle_ of a damn hunt here!"

"Y'don't understand, Trenton. Y'just don't understand. That explosion…it was beautiful…I need to know! I need to know how the hell he did it…I…I just need one look…"

"Ya sick bastard, yer gonna get us all killed!"

"No, Trenton." And here was the silver-tongue of the group, silky-smooth as a diplomat. He heard muttered curses from the Texan as Trenton was somehow thwarted in his attempts to stop the agitated Sparky. "Let him go on ahead."

"Steel, I don't reckon that's the best idea right now—"

"Let him go," Steel insisted again, in a tone that brooked no argument. More muttering from Trenton, but Sparky seemed oblivious as he began whispering to himself, seeking out the source of the destruction the SEAL had caused.

He knew the reason for Steel's insistence, of course. His enemy was trying to draw him out, using Sparky as the obvious bait. He didn't rise to Steel's gambit, though Sparky passed so close to him that he could have reached out and grabbed him at one point. "He fused together flares," Sparky laughed, sounding somewhat hysterical. "He fused them, Trenton! And he ignited the whole thing with _bullets_!" The laughter increased, graduating from hysterical to maniacal.

_Creepy. Joker laugh,_ he thought to himself, frowning.

_"Very creepy. I hope you know what you're doing. You're obviously going to have to take out the quiet one first. Just like at the house, remember? Those five didn't stand a chance."_

He remembered five men, but he was having trouble with the part about why they didn't stand a chance. He also agreed with the presumption that he would need to get rid of Steel first, and waited patiently for the opportunity to move. Sparky had already gone ahead, seeking the origin of the blast by picking at the remnants of the flares and studying them.

Further back in the cave, Steel tensed, and released Trenton slowly. Trenton risked a glance at the other man, then moved forward toward the wandering Sparky. "Okay, you've had yer fun, Sparky," he murmured like an indulgent parent. "Now we really need to get on outta here, yeah?"

Sparky looked up at him and clearly pouted. "Trent, I haven't found the first one yet! I need to find the first one or else I can't know if it was perfect or not!"

Trenton fought for control and patience. Turning to glance back over his shoulder, he called to Steel, "Hey, man, a little help here?"

Steel's eyes were moving over the expanse of the hall, but he grunted and gave a slight nod to Trenton's request. "He won't be far, keep sharp." Trenton waved dismissively and followed Sparky toward the front of the cave in search of the first flare to go off. This wasn't what he signed up for. Dammit.

Just as he turned there was a slight whoosh of air, a muffled groan, then a thud. Trenton froze, and carefully looked back over his shoulder to find—nothing. "Steel?" Where his teammate had been, now there was only a swirl of the gray-colored smoke that was still heavy in the area. "Steel, man, this ain't funny!" Still no response. Trenton exhaled through his teeth, and turned toward Sparky. "Sparky?"

Sparky had wandered too far ahead. He couldn't see his teammate anymore. Terror filled him, and he moved toward the nearest cave wall, hoping to have something at his back to fend off the unseen. "Man," he murmured in the faintest whisper, "I'm just a damn game warden for a stupid damn pyromaniac. How the hell did I wind up here?"

There was a slight trickle of water that kept dripping to his left. He glanced toward the sound warily. Then, the snap-snap-snap of a pebble rolling down the cave wall had him twirling toward the right, eyes wide and jaw muscle working. He fumbled with his rifle, not sure what to do. That was Steel's job—giving the orders, making the plans.

When the rifle fell from his hands, Trenton's first thought was that they were shaking so badly he'd dropped it. He didn't realize that the gun was pulled from him until something collided with his gut. At the same time, a hand fell over his mouth to muffle his outcry, and he risked a glance up into dark blue eyes as consciousness bled from him.

Lowering the Texan to the ground, he made quick work stripping the man of all weapons and binding him up.

_"Good work. You keep this up, I'll be telling you your name in no time at all."_

"I thought I told you to shut up?"

He inched after the final member of the group, peering ahead through the smoke to find Sparky holding some of the flares in his hands and murmuring to himself. He crouched low, ready to move to neutralize the small man and move toward the last team.

He noticed the shuffle behind him and turned a moment too late.

The very hard sweep of a gun crashing into his _already_-cracked ribs sent him to the ground with a barely-restrained groan of agony. "See, Spike?" the man standing over him smirked. "Just have to wait and see sometimes."

Simultaneously in his mind and ear, both he and 'Gabby' muttered, _"Crap."_

_

* * *

_

Briella's eyes snapped open, a curse on her lips. "What the hell is taking so long, Michael?" she asked.

Michael glanced at her in surprise. "You're awfully moody today."

"We're behind schedule. So is Danny's team. We need to get there, _immediately_."

"All right, boss, all right." To appease her, he increased their speed again. Then, he gave her an accusatory look. "You going to make that call to the governor yet?"

"No. And I won't until after we've secured McGarrett." She gave him a cool look. "You and I are both responsible for him, Michael. Perhaps you could show a little genuine concern?"

Michael frowned, but nodded.

"Good." Briella glared out the window again. "Where _are_ you, Detective?" Her fingers tapped restlessly again, and she contemplated her cell phone, knowing it would do no good. _Here's to hoping,_ she thought, and took a deep breath to wait for their arrival at the scene.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N:_ Thanks for your feedback, everyone. It lights me up every time I get to see what you guys think! :) Please alert me at once if you see anything odd in here, kind of suffering from a fever and severe headache at present but it looked all right to me when I read it...anyway, thanks again! :D

_Edited_ one error so far, thank you sockie1000!

**_Disclaimer:_** Still own nothing beyond original characters.

Six

They were getting close. Danny could tell because suddenly the sounds of a warzone echoed from their destination. A series of explosions echoed from the depths of the series of caves that Chin and Kono had spent most of the way over explaining to him. There were distant shouts, muffled from the depths of the cave and the remnants of what sounded like a sonic boom. And then stillness.

With a frenzied glance toward his teammates, Danny muttered a curse and then motioned to the other officers to fan out and move in. He, Chin, and Kono moved in practiced unison—one darting ahead to cover the others while they zigzagged ahead. Soon, the cliffs were above them, and they were facing the narrow space between the outskirts of the forest and the openings of the caves, separated by a stream.

Danny felt off, though, and said so to Chin when the Hawaiian man joined him.

"I hear you," Chin agreed with a glance around. "I get the feeling we're being watched. Just like I'm thinking not _all_ the guys after Steve would just run into a series of caves…there has to be a ringleader."

Danny nodded once in agreement, and motioned to Kono to keep her eyes on the forest. She called upon a few of the officers around them to join her, and disappeared through the trees.

Without warning, something rumbled above them. Danny glanced upward, only to be sideswiped by Chin into the entrance of the cave as boulders and chunks of rock from above suddenly crashed down where they were standing.

After twenty seconds—Danny counted because he refused to release the breath he'd managed to draw in the moment he hit the ground—the final pebbles from the landslide dropped to the top of the rather formidable pile separating the cave entrance from the forest.

Danny managed to withhold a groan as he turned to rest a hand to Chin's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good," Chin responded.

Danny climbed to his feet and offered Chin a hand up. "Thanks for that," he said with a nod toward the debris.

"Anytime, brah."

"Danny! Cos!" The muffled call was accompanied by the scraping sound of rocks being pushed aside feverishly from the outside of the cave. Danny and Chin hurried to join the efforts to clear some of the path.

"We're here, Kono!" Danny called through the wall of fallen rock.

There was a spluttered curse, then an opening appeared in the very top of the boulders, and a very concerned pair of dark eyes peered through at them. "Are you both okay?"

"Fine, cos!" Chin returned with a smile, then grimaced as he and Danny turned surveyed the darkness of the caverns. "Guess we're taking the cave route."

"Kono, keep an eye out for anyone else out there. Stay with HPD—they'll back you up," Danny instructed.

"Okay…" Kono responded reluctantly. "You two be safe."

"Got it. Watch your back, Rookie."

Kono vanished from their sight. Danny waited until he knew she was gone before he and Chin climbed down to face the caves.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that McGarret's got something to do with all the Richter activity going on in here," Danny murmured. "We'd better hurry and go find him." He tossed an irritated glance upward, as though somehow his menace would reach his partner. "Let's move."

* * *

The Old Man had watched the detectives split up, had watched the cute little surfer-girl go off on her own with the idiots from HPD, and had watched the landslide that had essentially cut off his quickest route to the SEAL. Hell, he'd even watched the rather-touching scene of the girl coming back, panicked and concerned after the cave-in, only to be sent reluctantly away again.

The explosions had told him what he wanted to know—he knew there was little chance that any of the men he'd brought with him were still capable of finishing the job if they hadn't put the SEAL down by now.

And the SEAL wasn't down. That much he knew. He could sense it, feel it in the pit of his gut.

Because hey, surviving unconventional warfare situations was something that SEALs were trained for. At least, he'd been trained that way. He liked to think that the Navy kept up the tradition of teaching their elite forces to survive by any means. It made jobs like this one more fun that way.

He had several options, and he spent his time weighing them carefully. He suspected that McGarrett would find a way to the plateau above all the cliffs and caves, because that was what the Old Man would do. He wanted this to end between two SEALs, one man respectfully trying to kill the other in a fair fight. The injuries that McGarrett had sustained didn't exactly make the fight even, but the Old Man wasn't exactly in his prime either—and he had ways of making McGarrett forget about the pain long enough to fight him at full strength.

He had the option of letting McGarrett go for the time being, as well. Boss wouldn't like it, but fuck the Boss—he was no longer interested in working for a man who would hide behind cryptic phone calls and backup plans to have some Cleaners take out the rest of the men on their team. He'd kill McGarrett his way.

He spent quite a time thinking about it, until the answer presented itself to him as clearly as the Hawaiian sky above—in the form of the same pretty little surfer girl he'd watched with HPD earlier.

He had no way to McGarrett's other teammates—they were inside the caves, likely looking for a way out. But the girl seemed younger than the rest—and a SEAL would give his life to protect his men. _Well, maybe a SEAL like McGarrett,_ he thought with a wicked smirk at the thought of his most recent teammates.

He crept through the foliage of the tropical forest, silently stalking the young female and plotting his way up to the plateau. This promised to be fun.

* * *

He took the first blow to his ribs because it was unexpected. The second blow came to his face—he took that, and feigned unconsciousness so he could buy a moment to assess the situation. The man he'd been skulking toward, Sparky, had been joined by three others. The last three in the caves, he assumed, since he knew there was still one more outside.

A gun cocked, catching his attention at once.

"You shouldn't shoot him," the twitchy, thin one in the back squeaked. "There's still plenty of coal dust in here, and it's probably going to be easier to ignite after that first explosion—and there may be some gases in here now that only need the spark from a gun to blow us all to hell."

There was a pause, and then a sigh of forced patience. "Fine…"

_"Little one's right."_ He was surprised at the note of concern in 'Gabby's' voice. _"You can cause a massive explosion in here with just an open spark or flame…"_

_No bright ideas, then? That's oddly disappointing._

_"Working on it!"_ There was a hesitant pause, then 'Gabby' added, _"There is _one_ way…it's absolutely mad though." _He waited until the voice went on, still hesitant. _"There is an air shaft, about fifty meters east of your current position…it will take you to the plateau above the cliffs. You are maybe thirty feet from the surface."_

Instantly, his mind mapped out the plan. Disable four armed men, race fifty meters east, climb an air vent to the cliffs above. Simple.

He chose not to factor in the now-definitely broken ribs, the concussion, and the gash in his thigh mixed with exhaustion, stress, and quickly-fading adrenaline. Because that would make this complicated.

"Fine," repeated the leader of the small group. The wounded SEAL realized that he had managed a full conversation with a voice in his head and had made a plan of escape from his current situation in under ten seconds, and made a mental note to remember the accomplishment whenever he told the story about this hellish day later.

In the meantime, though…

"Spike, help me get the weapons off him. Nick, for God's sake, please get that idiot away from those flares."

"Sure thing, Ballard." Nick vanished to retrieve Sparky while Spike and Ballard carefully knelt toward the SEAL.

He spotted through slitted eyes that the twitchy one had a small cluster of hand grenades tucked in his vest. His plan altered at that moment, decreasing the amount of melee combat he would have to attempt and increasing the amount of panic he would be inflicting.

_"Good luck…"_

Ballard kept his weapon trained on the SEAL's face, but when he moved to nudge the firearm out of his hand, he glanced away toward the SEAL's fingers as they twitched.

First mistake.

With one hand, he reached to snatch the weapon out of Ballard's loose grip before the man could panic and fire the rifle, killing them all. He grabbed the rifle in his other hand and with all his strength, sideswiped Ballard's skill with the small of the stock. Dazed, Ballard fell backward in the dirt.

Spike hadn't moved, caught in silent shock. He guessed that the twitchy man wasn't used to combat—more likely an explosives expert. He swept a handful of the grenades from the man's vest, and doubled back with his elbow, striking the smaller man square in the nose. Spike's body hadn't fully crumpled to the floor in pain before he had pushed off his uninjured leg, thanking whatever deities came to mind for the team's obvious lack of experience together—that and their differences in expertise rewarded him with this small opportunity.

He dashed down the eastern passage, slowed somewhat by the pain ripping through his leg and the warm, gushing feeling that alerted him to the wound there reopening. At the shout of another man, the one Ballard had called Nick, he half-turned, simultaneously the pin from one grenade and arming it before he tossed it. There was a loud curse behind him as he repeated the action for the last grenades and tossed them backward too.

* * *

Further back, Nicholas shared a look with the still-reeling Ballard. "We're dead anyway," he shrugged.

Ballard gave him a thumbs-up. "Go for it, Sniper."

Twelve seconds until the first grenade went off. Nicholas fell to one knee, and pulled the long-range rifle from over his shoulder, activating the laser before he set its bipod off the cave floor.

Eight seconds.

He took aim at the retreating shadow's back.

Three seconds.

He fired.

* * *

The car had reached top speeds, and Michael hadn't uttered a single complaint. Briella gave a wan smile of appreciation, and then realized that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She murmured softly in discontentment, glancing outside to gauge how far they were from the cliffs.

Michael glanced into the rearview mirror at her, quirking a brow in silent query.

"Trouble," she responded without looking.

"How long?" he asked.

"Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. We need to get to him. I'm not sure that Detective Williams is going to make it in time."

"It will work out," Michael assured her. "Always does."

Briella pursed her lips. _I hope so._

_

* * *

_

The force of the explosion threw him forward, right at the opening of the shaft he was looking for. He scrambled to his feet, and caught onto the first secure stones he could find before the pain finally caught up to him, just about the same time as the orange-red glow of fire caught the corner of his eye. The agony in his back tripled as he reached for the next secure handhold, but he scrambled up the wall as quickly as his body would allow. The opening of the shaft was right outside his reach when the roar of the explosion reached his ears. He glanced down just in time to witness a wall of fire bursting into the shaft.

For a moment, he could have sworn a pair of hands gripped his shoulders and gave a firm tug. The sensation mixed with his sudden desperate need to clamber out of the way of the inferno had him spanning the three feet to the surface in less time than he thought possible—and suddenly, dirt and grass brushed against his face as he rolled away from the opening of the shaft.

The blaze poured toward the sky not unlike a geyser. He stumbled to his feet and dove further away as some of the fire fell like rain upon the grasses around him. Then the fire was gone, the air still thick with heavy odors of the fire and the gases that caused it.

He inhaled deeply, letting his weary eyes fall shut, then coughed as pain filled his chest. A hand rose shakily to his sore shoulder, where the hurt had now been tripled by the additional hole in the Kevlar vest he'd donned. In frustration, he wrestled out of the vest, trying to better assess the damage the bullet had added to his shoulder. Blood stained the inside of the vest. He collapsed to his knees at the sudden fatigue that took hold of his body, combined with the pains he had been fighting to ignore.

God, he just wanted to sleep.

His chin fell against his chest and his eyes fluttered closed, body ready to let the exhaustion claim him. He was interrupted by a murmur at his ear.

_"Good job, Steve McGarrett."_

"Shut the hell up, Gabby—"

His eyes opened. He blinked.

_Steve McGarrett. That's right._

Steve could almost describe what he felt as a relief of sorts, but it barely lasted before the pain overwhelmed his ability to feel anything else—he caved inward, folding at the waist as one arm curled protectively against his chest and the other cradled his forehead before it hit the ground. His vision darkened and his breath grew bated. Fading fast, but he had won…

He forced his eyes open, senses suddenly alert again. Something rankled him at the thought that he had won. And then he looked up, and realized that he hadn't won at all.

Because there was the older man from the marina, dressed in black and sporting a freshly split lip and a new black eye, staring at him with a wicked grin.

And in his grasp, gun pressed to her temple, was the rookie on Steve's team.

And suddenly it didn't matter that he couldn't recall her name and couldn't clearly think of the cases that he'd worked with her and the others. It didn't matter that his body was screaming in protest as he swayed to his feet and sharpened his gaze into a deadly glare. It didn't matter that he was pretty sure he was close to bleeding out.

All that mattered was the terror in that girl's eyes, and making damn sure she didn't end up like the dark-haired woman did.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N:_ Just got finished reading this through...hope it looks okay...thanks everyone for your get well wishes... You didn't think I'd leave you hanging like that, did you?

...Wait 'til you see the end of this one.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays if I don't get the next one posted before then... :)

**_Disclaimer:_** And yet again, no ownership rights here.

Seven

"Whenever you were working with Steve's dad," Danny said suddenly, "did you ever just get this weird feeling like—oh crap, I smell trouble?"

Despite the situation, Chin chuckled and glanced back at the blonde detective in amusement. "Sometimes. I gotta say, trouble seems hereditary in the McGarrett line. Why do you ask?"

"I've been trying to pinpoint this exact sensation of irritation that recently overwhelmed me, and I realize after close appraisal that it is the precise measure of irritation that I am always overcome with whenever I know that Steve is about to do something daft. Y'know, way, waaay up there on Steve's levels of insanity," he said, gesturing with his hand on a high level.

Again, amusement washed over Chin's features. "In that case, I guess we'd better find him pretty quickly." He pointed a flashlight down each corridor of the tunnels they passed, routinely searching out any signs of the destruction typically left in the wake of the tropical storm that was Steve McGarrett.

"He's probably going to want to get out of the caves at some point, right?" Danny asked. "How would he go about that?"

"Most of the caves here open up to the cliffs you saw overlooking the ocean," Chin explained. "Some go down under the water, some go topside. The easiest way for Steve to go would have been up."

"Okay…then we go up." Danny looked around, and shook his head in disgust. "I hate caves."

"Ah, c'mon. What's so bad about caves?" The corner of Chin's mouth quirked as he shot a glance sidelong toward his teammate.

"What's so bad about caves?" Danny repeated. "Chin, you're starting to sound like Steve and that, friend, is dangerous. First of all, caves are dark. Why would a logical human being, most of whom are not nocturnal, venture into a place that is dark, damp, dangerous, full of explosive materials, and all-around generally creepy?"

"Some people like to learn about those things," Chin offered with a smirk.

"And some people are idiotic teenagers looking to impress their buddies and/or girlfriends and end up getting themselves and said buddies and/or girlfriends dead," Danny retorted. "I like being on solid ground, in the sunlight, surrounded by people and buildings and most importantly good food. Caves, tropical forests, mountains, any particular body of water I may encounter—these are not my scene."

"Well, then it's probably a good thing I know the quickest way topside." Chin paused when they came across a slight incline in the tunnels, the passages splitting up into several different openings.

Danny looked at him oddly. "And you didn't mention this before, why?"

"I was enjoying listening to your enthralling views on caves in all their general creepiness," Chin responded without pause.

He moved on ahead, leaving Danny to stare after him. After a moment, the blonde detective scoffed. "Starting to sound _way_ too much like Steve," he reaffirmed, and followed the Hawaiian.

* * *

Steve swayed dangerously on his feet, shifting his stance to help keep his body upright. His head hurt, his shoulder hurt, his ribs hurt, his leg hurt—hell, if there was a part of his body that _didn't_ hurt, he hadn't found it yet. His _freaking eyes_ hurt just staring at the scene in front of him. His mind was slow to form the thought to demand what the hell was wrong with this man—his thoughts were still twisted around ways to get his rookie teammate to safety. He met her gaze for a moment, trying to will to her that she was fine, that everything would be all right.

Her dark eyes were still full of terror, and he glimpsed shame and guilt in their depths.

He frowned, but had no time to console her now—first he had to get her out of harm's way. He swallowed hard, remembering that sip of water he'd taken from the stream as if it had happened days ago, and called in slightly-slurred speech, "Who are you?"

With a smirk, the man returned, "You can call me Old Man Gunner, I guess. 's the name I was usin' anyway."

"What do you want, Gunner?"

The Old Man laughed. "Straight to it, then. I like that." He lifted his arm from his captive's waist to lay a hand at her throat. "I just wanted you ship-shape for this. Figured seein' one of your own being hurt at my hands might liven you up a little, 'specially after the last coupla days you and me've shared." He shook the young rookie by her throat, tightening his grip slightly. "Smile pretty for your commander, girl." He squeezed tighter, and his hostage grimaced.

"Stop it! Leave her alone!" Steve commanded, his tone suddenly dangerous.

Steve watched as the Old Man gave him a thoughtful look, then glanced at his hostage, who choked as she tried to speak. "You have something to say to your superior officer, girly?" Gunner demanded. "You might wanna speak up."

"S-sorry, Boss."

He gave her a genuinely compassionate look. "This isn't your fault. No apologies, you understand?" _Dammit, she's my responsibility,_ he thought irritably. _She's not the one who should be apologizing for this._ He turned a steely gaze to Gunner. "If you want to fight me, _fight me_. Leave her out of this."

"You sure?" Gunner asked with a devilish smirk. "Because I could really have fun with this one…she's feisty." Steve's fingers itched to draw the side arm and shoot the bastard, but Gunner's eyes were trained on him. "It's been awhile for me, McGarrett. I haven't seen any worthy piece of action since I went AWOL a few years back…got bored," he said by way of explanation. "Hell, still am bored. But you…you seem like the kinda guy I can trust to make things interesting. So here's what I'm gonna do." He reared his arm back and struck the back of his hostage's head with the butt of his gun before Steve could cry out in protest. "Ah-ah!" Gunner called, waving with his gun toward Steve's stolen weapons and supplies as the commander started forward. "Drop the guns. And anything else you've got there."

Steve glared at him, and slowly disarmed himself, tossing all the weapons away from him to where the vest was lying. After he'd finished, he looked at the older man pointedly. With a nod, Gunner released his burden and moved back as Steve rushed forward. He caught the rookie quickly, grimacing with pain as he lowered her unconscious form to the ground and checked the knot at the base of her skull. She'd be fine, he assessed after a moment of concern.

"You have your little surfer back," the Old Man said from above. Steve lifted his gaze to Gunner's, rage flaring in his deep blue eyes. "Now, show me you deserve to live. The good, old-fashioned way." Gunner tossed aside his gun and shed all his weapons and his own vest. He crouched into a familiar stance, lifting both brows to invite Steve to the fight.

Steve carefully lowered his officer's head to the ground, and painfully climbed to his feet to step around her. He glanced back over his shoulder, increasing the space between the madman and his teammate as much as possible before he finally met Gunner's gaze.

Gunner didn't give him a chance to voice any thoughts he may have formed. The older man suddenly charged, and Steve did his best to deflect the fists flying at him while Gunner continued to press forward like an animal. Steve was too late to put up his arm at the last second, and grunted and coughed up blood when a fist collided with his ribs.

_"Careful, McGarrett…"_

_For the last time, shut up, Gabby._

Steve dropped to his knees out of the way of a follow-through swing, and then hoisted his body upward, effectively tackling Gunner and lifting his body off the ground before they both crashed down into the dirt. Steve ignored the jabbing pain in his chest and the throbbing in his shoulder as he twisted around to clamber to his knees in order to try and pin Gunner down. Gunner, however, was a lot quicker than the wounded SEAL, even with the hurts that Steve's rookie had managed to inflict on him in her struggle, and swept one leg across Steve's chest, effectively knocking the wind out of him before his back hit the ground hard.

Gunner moved to dive atop Steve, but Steve curled his knees and scissored his legs to the side, knocking Gunner off balance long enough for Steve to push his body off the ground, arcing onto his feet.

He managed to stay upright long enough to swing his arm back, catching the other man in the face with his elbow. As he fell, he tried to pivot out of the way of a counter from Gunner, who flipped his body to deliver a blow toward Steve's jaw. Steve leaned back just in time, and sliced his arm sideways into Gunner's knee. A satisfying _snap_ filled his ears and he grunted as he kicked the other man backwards. Steve fell with him, bracing himself on his knees and punching him once.

Gunner groaned, and Steve fisted his hand in the man's shirt to hold him in place as he punched him again, then repeated the action a few more times—for good measure. Gunner laughed through each punch, grabbing at Steve's arms until he finally dug his fingers into the wound on Steve's shoulder.

Steve cried out in pain, and Gunner shoved him away, swinging a punch into his gut before he did. Steve lay there in the dirt for a minute, collecting his thoughts and his bearings. He didn't remember other fights being this hard…'course, he usually wasn't bleeding from six or seven different holes or gashes in various areas of his body.

He looked up just in time to roll out of the way as Gunner dropped his elbow to the ground where the commander had been laying. Gunner followed through, chopping through the air to latch onto the gunshot wound on Steve's back again, momentarily stunning him until Gunner slammed his head injured-side-down into the ground.

Steve hissed in pain and discomfort, and threw his arm backward, elbowing the man in the side once, then again and again until Gunner's grip loosened. Once Steve had the chance, he slipped out from beneath Gunner and pushed off his hands to swing the toe of his boot into the side of the older man's face. Gunner stumbled backward and fell to the ground.

Fell to the ground right beside the unconscious rookie.

Steve cursed himself a fool as he watched the Old Man scramble for the gun he'd dropped near his teammate, and turned to drag himself in a half-crawl, half-somersault toward his own weapons.

In one instant, everything froze, as both the SEAL and the mercenary reached their destinations and fingers caught hold of handguns.

Steve swung his arm around, gun aimed at Gunner's chest just as Gunner swept the girl up in one arm and pointed the gun back at the commander. The Old Man inhaled deeply, then smiled despite his bloodied mouth. He threw back his head and laughed out loud, "You _are_ a lively one, McGarrett! I'm glad to have had this opportunity. But a job's a job, innit? And you wouldn't dare shoot at a man holding one of your own hostage, 'specially not as shaky as you are. So…"

He spat blood to the side, eyes never leaving Steve's as Steve caught his breath. "Goodnight, Lieutenant." Gunner smiled wildly as he steadied his aim on Steve.

Three shots were fired in quick sequence.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N:_ More of an interlude than an actual chapter, but you guys convinced me, lol. Last one until after Christmas. Happy holidays.

Eight

Steve froze, watching the thin trail of blood spill down from Gunner's temple from the shot he had fired. The second wound had opened up on Gunner's throat. Movement, behind him. Steve twisted around and at the same time swung his gun around to take aim at the two men who suddenly appeared slightly behind and to the left.

"Whoa, whoa! Watch where you're pointin' that thing at, Rambo!"

He recognized the voice, but didn't recognize the man—not really, not at first. And he saw that both men realized he didn't recognize them, really quickly. He glanced down at his forearm, which suddenly started spitting fire as he became aware that the third shot fired had been from Gunner's gun. Alarmed and now confused, he kept his gun trained on the two men while he turned back go Gunner, who had slumped over. The rookie lay on the ground beneath Gunner, and Steve paused to reassure himself that she was okay before he refocused his gaze back on the two men, who were slowly approaching him, hands in clear view.

Danny gave Steve a look of severe agitation, then exchanged a glance with Chin as Steve stood shakily and kept the gun trained on his teammates. "Seriously?" Danny demanded—then at the same instant, recalled his conversation with Briella earlier. _Make him remember you._

"Crap. This is what that psychiatrist meant, I guess." Ignoring Chin's questioning look, Danny put up his hands placatingly and took another calm step toward his partner. "Look, McGarrett," he called, watching the other man's eyes narrow in suspicion, "you're not yourself right now—that much is obvious. But I need to see if Kono's okay—so I'm walking over there to check on her."

Dark blue eyes followed his every movement as he carefully approached Kono, kicking the man who had threatened both her and Steve out of his way before he knelt to tend to her. He ran his fingers over her head, finding some blood at the nape of her neck.

Kono gave a slight groan, causing alarm to rise in Steve's eyes as he frantically glanced downward toward her face. Danny held up a hand to forestall him. "She's okay, just a bump on the head," he said soothingly. He glanced to Chin, who joined him, moving just as deliberately as Danny had done so as not to further startle Steve. Once Chin had his cousin, Danny refocused his attention on Steve.

"Steve, I need you to listen to me." He took one step toward the SEAL, then another. "Do you recognize me?" Steve made no attempt to answer his question, but Danny saw the uncertainty flickering in the SEAL's eyes. "Now _that's_ a face…might have to call that kicked-a-puppy face. Okay, then…I'm—God, I hate you so much for making me have to do this—I'm _Danno_, Steve—you know, your _partner_?"

Steve froze for a moment, his eyes passing quickly from Danny's toward Chin and Kono. Danny held his breath, concerned that something might be seriously wrong. After a tense beat, Steve dropped the gun in his hands, and his expression became calm.

The sound of sirens approaching alerted Danny to the presence of their backup—too late, as was the usual when it came to Steve McGarrett. He hurried to Steve's side, kneeling in front of the man and looking him over. He grimaced upon seeing the gunshot in Steve's arm—and then again when he saw the other gunshot that went through the man's shoulder. The grimace just pretty much stayed in place as he continued to assess his partner's ever-growing list of physical damages.

"Jesus, Steve. I feel like I need to hire you a guardian angel or something," he admitted, looking up into dazed, exhausted blue eyes as he hesitantly squeezed Steve's good shoulder. "Look, don't move, okay? HPD will be here in a minute and hopefully there'll be an ambulance right behind them so we can get you checked out—that's a nasty cut there." He studied the wound to Steve's temple for a moment, brows knitted in concern. "How'd you manage that one, partner?"

"Yacht 'sploaded on me," Steve managed to mumble, his speech garbled by the concussion and his obvious physical exhaustion.

"Yeah, seems like a commonplace occurrence for you to find trouble on boats," Danny remarked offhand. "Maybe we should just keep you away from them. I mean, if it's not an unstable SEAL taking hostages on an old Navy ship or having to drive my car onto a freighter, it's a yacht blowing up on you." He watched as Steve tried to focus on him, eyes barely responsive. Whatever had managed to keep the wounded man going so long was quickly running on empty, and he was losing the fight to keep himself conscious.

"Hang in there, McGarrett. Help's on its way." Danny watched Steve give a pained nod. "Can you tell me at all what the hell happened to you?"

Steve's eyes lost their focus so quickly Danny had to squeeze his shoulder again to make sure that he was still responsive. Steve looked up at him, gaze narrow and eyes full of an unspeakable pain. "Mary?" he asked.

"She's okay," Danny assured him.

"…Cat?"

The hesitation in his voice told Danny that Steve was already aware of Cat's fate. Nevertheless, he slowly shook his head, offering the SEAL a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Steve."

The sound of screeching tires and shouting voices distracted Steve for a moment, his weary gaze wandering over Danny's shoulder toward the newcomers joining them. "Don't worry about them, that's just the backup," Danny soothed. He heard Chin giving instructions to the officers and directing the paramedics to Steve—as well as someone else.

Danny shot a fleeting look over his shoulder at the sound of a slightly-accented female voice suddenly talking in his ear, "Hello Detective." When he looked up at the sound of the voice, Danny's eyes widened. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he thought of what Briella Engel would look like, but somehow, he didn't expect her to be so…well, angelic. Her softly-curled, deep honey-and-russet hair fell over her shoulder as she knelt by him, sky blue eyes alert and bright. He briefly scented a soft whiff of what he thought might be jasmine and cocoa, and stared in surprise at the woman who couldn't have been much older than Kono. When the hell had this woman worked with Steve?

"Dr. Engel?" he hazarded.

"Yes, Danny, that would be me." He couldn't quite place the accent now that he realized its presence—possibly a vague trace of Italian. Briella glanced aside at him, and offered a smile. "Danny, would you care to help me with your partner? He seems to be glaring at us."

Danny turned to give Steve a glower. "You," he said, poking Steve lightly in his uninjured shoulder, "quit making aneurysm face. And you," he went on, swiveling to shake a finger toward Briella, "start explaining to me what the hell is going on with him." He gestured toward his partner with the same hand.

Briella smiled slightly. "Please be patient, Detective," she consoled him, before she focused on her patient. "Commander McGarrett…it's been awhile since we've met face-to-face like this. What have you been up to, aside from the obvious chaos and destruction?"

Steve struggled to focus on her voice, and his brow knit further in agitation. "_Please._ Shut up," he slurred.

Briella grinned as if this somehow amused her. Danny gave her a skeptical look. "Steve," he said aside to his partner, "it's really not nice to talk to a lady like that."

Steve gave him an incredulous look. "Danno…told her three times already…" At Danny's wide-eyed look, he glared at Briella again. "So be quiet, Gabby!"

Briella's smile remained. "Certainly, McGarrett…just as soon as we get you into the ambulance and well on your way to the hospital."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N:_ A little shorter this time, more of a short pause than anything but there were a few things I wanted to expand upon before starting to give some real answers. :) Thank you all for your continued support! I love to see your feedback.

**_Disclaimer:_** Still own nothing.

Nine

Waiting rooms were becoming a little too familiar to Danny—though he had to admit, he wasn't unpleasantly surprised to find that Briella's connections had landed them with a private waiting room nearer to the recovery room where Steve would—if all went well—be moved to after he came out of surgery. Briella herself had seemed to disappear as soon as she saw Steve's teammates settled in. Unfortunate, because Danny had a number of questions he would like to ask the woman. He guessed—from the way she had started speaking to the surgeon upon their arrival at the hospital—that she was trying to find out how Steve was.

Danny leaned his elbows against his knees and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. Kono hadn't been transported in the ambulance—as soon as they'd ascertained that she wasn't concussed and warned her to take it easy, to put an ice pack on the lump on her head, and to alert someone if her headache persisted or was joined by nausea or increased confusion. She sat by Danny now, nursing her sore spot with the ice pack they'd given her. He glanced sidelong at her as she leaned back and closed her eyes with a quiet sigh.

"You okay, kid?" Danny queried.

"Just a headache. Nothing a good night's sleep and some serious ibuprofen won't take care of later," she said, smiling at him.

Chin joined them, presenting each of his teammates with a steaming cup of coffee. Danny took his with a smile of thanks, and nodded toward the movement outside their room. "Any word from beyond?"

"Not yet." Chin sat down across from them, and scooted his chair closer. "HPD found three of the mercenaries still alive in the caves. So far, none of them are saying anything. And Max is still working out how to identify the others. HPD's also trying to run a trace on the cell phone they found on the old man, hoping to find a location or a name for whoever did this."

"So we don't know who anyone is, and we don't really know what happened except that they took on a SEAL and ended up blowing small pieces of the island to the ground," Danny summarized.

Chin gave him a grim look. "We should consider the possibility that whoever put the hit on Steve is still a major threat."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that," Danny admitted, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll probably have to have a detail with him for awhile. And what do we do with him while we get his place patched up?"

"No need to worry about any of that." Danny and Chin looked up in surprise as Briella suddenly stood over them. Danny gave her an irritated look, and she returned it calmly. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, Detectives."

"Have you heard anything about Steve?" Kono asked her.

Briella glanced away and tilted her head to the side in a noncommittal gesture. "Touch and go, they're telling me. There was a lot of internal damage, broken ribs, barely-missed arteries, and of course the head wound." As confident as she'd seemed the first time he'd seen her with Steve, Danny didn't like this new uncertainty in the woman. She pulled a seat to join them in a circle.

"So no one knows if he's going to be okay?" Danny surmised, frowning at her.

"He'll live," Briella assured him. "There's just no telling what long-term damage has been done…"

"In other words?" Danny prompted pointedly.

"In other words, there's no telling whether or not he'll be able to function as the commander of your team, or even as a SEAL. Not until he can be further assessed, both somatically and psychiatrically."

The words were dealt like a blow to each individual before her, and Briella watched their reactions with a trained, compassionate eye. Kono, shocked and heartbroken, stared at the psychiatrist and blinked hard to hold back the tears that glistened in her eyes. Danny looked away and scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his struggle to hold it together. Chin was torn, feeling both the loss of a comrade and leader and the loss of his newly-regained position in crime fighting. Briella categorized each response, and decided she would speak with them individually later on. Right now, her primary focus was on Steve.

"My associate Michael has already begun the process of seeing to Steve's home," she said, alleviating that obvious stressor at once. "Currently, the governor is closing Five-0 to any other cases and has directed associative police forces to your beck and call to find out what happened here. Governor Jameson's security liaison, Miss Wells, will also be available to you for the investigation. And I have it on good faith that several rather formidable individuals with the Navy have offered up any assistance they can." She registered the shocked looks on their faces, and smiled. "A security team will be made available to you at once, though I'm sure that Steve won't appreciate it."

"Who the hell _are_ you?" Danny asked, staring agape at her.

Briella's smile warmed and she lowered her gaze humbly. "I'm simply an old friend of Steve's. An old, well-connected friend I might add."

"Clearly."

Briella recognized the sarcasm as a defense mechanism, Danny's confusion and uncertainty bringing about the pattern of speech he was most comfortable with. "You can rest assured," she said then, giving first Danny then Chin and finally Kono a meaningful look, "I will do all I can to help all of you—that includes your commander."

Before any of them could provide a response, Briella rose and turned. "And speaking of which…"

A doctor had joined the waiting room, aged and gray and grim as Death. Danny beat Briella to him, Chin and Kono right behind him. "How is he, Doc?" Danny demanded.

"He came through the surgery well," Dr. Reyes responded, confirming Briella's statement from earlier. "We managed to stop the bleeding before it damaged his internal organs, and we've treated the external wounds—it was a bit dicey at first, but we gave him a few units of blood and his blood pressure and pulse are stabilizing."

The three members of Five-0 shared a collective sigh of relief. Briella gave the surgeon a look. "There were complications?" she surmised.

The surgeon nodded gravely. "The sheer amount of damage the commander's organs sustained, as well as the swelling of the tissues, caused some trouble. Also, he seemed to be resistant to the anesthesia." Dr. Reyes looked generally exhausted, and removed his wire glasses to scrub at his eyes. "He's resting now."

"Resting?" Briella prompted.

"Yes, he's asleep. Thank you for your advice, Dr. Engel. We probably would have had a bit more trouble without your help," Dr. Reyes responded. "I'd like to see his blood pressure and pulse completely stable before I can allow any of you to visit with him. Someone will be in to update you again in maybe an hour."

"Thank you, Dr. Reyes." Briella waited until the elder doctor left, then turned to the team. "From this point, I'll be on the treatment team for Steve and Mary. The first goal will be, of course, to recover what I can from them both of whatever transpired."

"And then what?" Danny inquired.

Briella smiled at him sweetly. "And then your team investigates and you, Detective Williams, get to pummel and book whoever did this to Steve."

* * *

When he was allowed to see Steve, Danny hesitated at the door. He hesitated because, when it came right down to it, he wasn't sure he could handle accepting that Steve McGarrett was down and quite possibly out, even if the jury was still out on that one. And honestly, he was a little concerned about whatever might be going on with Steve that required the presence of Briella Engel—with whom Danny was growing increasingly impressed. (She'd complained about Hawaii and its lack of decent coffee three times in the last hour, earning her a formidable amount of respect in the Jersey boy's eyes.) Briella seemed like she was intimately familiar with the McGarrett way of life, right down to the way she spoke about Steve's teammates and seemed to recognize their banter of one another. Such familiarity sent Danny's deductive mind into overdrive, wondering about the mysterious connection between Steve and Briella. Wondering how Briella had known to come in the first place, and how she'd known that Steve wouldn't recognize Danny.

Wondering how bad the head injury was that Steve had stared at him and Chin like they were complete strangers.

He shook it off and entered Steve's room.

The machines hooked up to his partner were beeping softly, a ventilator helping Steve breathe and an IV hooked to his wrist. Steve lay against the stark white sheets, his skin tone pale and his eyes closed tightly.

Danny approached his partner's side cautiously, brows knit and jaw tight. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and laid it atop Steve's head, very gently mussing his dark hair. "You had us worried there, partner," he said with a tired half-smile. "Next time you decide to go Rambo, could you at least give a guy a heads-up?"

He stood soaking up the general quiet of the room, listening to the gentle beeping of the machines hooked up to Steve. When he could no longer stand the stillness, he quickly said, "We're going to be trying to find out what happened. But it'd be a lot easier if you just woke up and told us, so as your partner, I demand that you hurry it up. That way you can tell me what's up with you and Briella."

He stared at Steve as though simply speaking his demands aloud would wake the SEAL. When Steve gave no signs of alertness, Danny glanced around him, and leaned down, his arms crossed against the rails lining the bed. "Hey, another thing. Thank you for, y'know…keeping your promise. You did good, McGarrett. You did us proud." He slowly returned his hand to the crown of Steve's head, and offered the unconscious man a small smile. "You have to get through this, okay, Steve? You promised. Okay?"

He didn't need to listen for an answer this time. Steve had already made the promise. Now, he just needed to make sure no one else came along to threaten Steve's ability to keep the promise.

He had work to do.

* * *

Steve stares at his hands, rubbing at them to get the stains off. The red stains. The blood. He rubs his hands together in the water, scrubs until his skin is raw. The blood won't come off. It won't come off his hands.

Something splashes in the water near him. He lifts his head, and stares into the cold, lifeless eyes of a familiar woman. He swallows the lump in his throat, thrashing his way through the water toward her. "No," he chokes, lifting her body from the water and trying to pull her up.

She won't come. He can't lift her.

"No! No, no! Please," he begs, but still the water holds her, refusing to let her go.

"Steve! Stevie!" He turns at the sound of the call, and sees a familiar man standing shoulder-deep in the water, blood pouring from a deep gash above his eyebrow. The water around his shoulders is red, tendrils of blood swirling slowly through the crystal blue. The man reaches toward him, but he can't let go of the woman—and he can't reach the man. He struggles, pulling his burden in order to try and get to the other victim—and then the lights in the man's eyes blink out, and Steve knows he's failed again.

_"No. This wasn't you. This isn't your fault."_

He hears but cannot believe her. The woman is slipping from his grasp, her eyes devoid of life but somehow still full of blame. He can't hold her, can't keep her above the surface. She slips from his hands, his slippery, blood-slicked hands, and he watches her descend slowly to the darkness of the water. Her hair is dark as the night. She is surrounded by a pool of red.

"No…"

_"Steve. Steve, please listen."_

He backs out of the water, collapsing onto the sand—it feels different, coarse beneath his fingers when he touches it instead of the soft fine sand he is used to. He looks around, finds the scene familiar, can't quite place it.

_"Steve…Steve, it's all right. You're all right."_

Three headstones, three names. None of them he can remember, though he can recognize them.

_Daniel Williams_

_Chin Ho Kelly_

_Kono Kalakaua_

Names he should know. Yet he doesn't. Why doesn't he know them? He folds, pressing his forehead against the cold stone of the headstone before him. He doesn't remember. He can't remember. He's responsible for this, and yet he can't remember who these people are.

He fights. Something holds him down. He struggles against it, but he cannot see what binds him and the struggle drains the strength from him, replacing it with pain in every part of his body.

_"Steve. I will help you. I will show you who they are. Stop fighting me, Steve."_

Warmth at his brow, a whisper in his ear. Something soft brushes his fingers, holds them. A gentle blanket of radiance covers him, soothing the aches as he tilts his head toward the voice, toward the warmth that brushes across his face.

_"I'm here now, Steve. Just rest. You don't want to break your promise. Rest and be still. I'll watch over you. I'm here."_

He forces his body to relax, forces himself calm. He decides, for the time being, to trust the voice. He knows Gabby would do him no harm. She never has.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N:_ Okay...whew. Banged this one out really quick...as per the usual, lemme know if there're any errors please. :) Thanks very much and I hope you enjoy!

_Edit:_ Fixed a slight error found by AtlantisGirl12. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Carry on!

_Warning:_ Language gets a little worse than usual in this chapter.

**_Disclaimer:_** Really, if you lawyer people don't get it by now, I don't see the need to keep reminding you.

Ten

"HPD got a hit on one of the guys the boss left alive," Kono reported back at Five-0's offices, throwing a picture up onto the screen. "Ford Jones." The boyish face that greeted them was decorated with a cocky smirk, blonde hair and laughing green eyes. "Jacket on this guy is about six inches thick. Started when he was fourteen with small-time burglaries in California and worked his way up."

"Okay," Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have we got any hits on the cell phone?"

"Nothing yet." Chin, on the opposite end of the high-tech community table, pulled up a screen of what appeared to Danny to be a string of numbers. "All the data Forensics got off the phone was heavily encrypted, and apparently all incoming calls were scrambled through different satellites, making it very difficult to track the calls to a point of origin."

Danny gritted his teeth. "Can we do anything to un-scramble them?"

"Maybe. It's going to take awhile, though." Chin offered a sympathetic shrug.

"Any word from the streets? Anyone at all talking about who contracted the hit?" Danny persisted, his tone caught between irritated and desperate. Chin shook his head slowly, looking cautious. Danny heaved a heavy sigh. "Damn…so we're basically adrift until we get Mary or Steve awake and talking."

"We'll find something, Danny," Kono reassured him. "We're gonna get these guys."

Danny nodded slowly in agreement, rubbing at his forehead with one hand as he placed the other hand on his hip. His cell phone rang, and with a furrowed brow he removed it from its holster at his hip and answered. "Yeah, Williams here."

"Detective Williams, I'd appreciate it if the three of you could join me at the hospital as soon as you can." Briella's voice was tinged with concern, and Danny frowned.

"Sure, of course. What's up? Is he okay?" he asked, growing more frantic as he spoke.

"He's fine, for the most part. But I'm going to need you three here, if we hope to get him through this part of the recovery process."

"Okay. We'll be there within the hour." He hung up, and looked up to two pairs of questioning, worried eyes. "Briella needs us at the hospital."

"Let's go, then. We'll come back to this." Chin acted as the calm to Danny's storm, and gently guided both his teammates to the door.

* * *

Briella met them in the hall outside Steve's room, and ushered them into a little conference area nearby that Danny was sure they weren't supposed to be using. She closed the door, keeping the blinds open so that they could see across the hall into Steve's room. Her eyes were gentle and concerned as they lingered on the commander's prone body for a moment, then she turned.

"Steve reopened the wounds in his chest and thigh, for the second time now," she said at last, meeting the steady gazes before her. "He's been struggling against the doctors and nurses caring for him, even under sedation. It occurs to me that we must take more drastic measures—I'd like someone to watch over him, but it's obvious that he doesn't trust anyone here that he doesn't know."

"We can stay with him, take shifts," Danny said at once.

Briella smiled. "That is exactly what I hoped you would say, Detective Williams." Her smile flickered, then faded. She grew thoughtful, glancing back toward the unconscious commander's room. "The injuries he's sustained, coupled with the emotional traumas in the past few months—that, let's face it, he probably hasn't dealt with properly—have left him vulnerable to severe symptoms of post-traumatic stress. He's been experiencing some sleep paralysis and active hallucinations…" She sighed and gesticulated sharply with one hand. "It's not going to be easy. There's likely to be sizable gaps in his memory—so he may not recognize you at once."

"Like when we first found him," Chin surmised.

"Exactly like that."

"How did you know, by the way?" Danny asked, narrowing his eyes. Briella shot him a querying look. "About him not recognizing us."

"I told you, Detective, I'm an old friend. I've seen this once before. The signs and symptoms typically remain the same in a patient."

"Right, you mentioned that a couple times now. But I'm curious…when did you work with McGarrett before?" Danny asked. He had to admit, he didn't like interrogating the woman, but she hadn't offered any answers yet—and his mood was pretty bad, making him more irritable than usual.

Briella smiled—and Danny was beginning to realize that it was a disarming move just as well as a comforting one. "Steven and I…have a complicated history. I was assigned to assess and treat his Team before and after a very…interesting operation in Naples, then again following a tour in Afghanistan. But I knew of him before then." She tapped a finger against her cheek thoughtfully. "How best to describe my role to the McGarrett family…? Oh. I know." She smiled with great amusement at the Jersey native. "You can think of me as McGarrett's babysitter."

Danny quirked a brow, and glanced sidelong at Chin's bemused expression. "Hey," Kono said in amusement, "it's not like the boss doesn't need one."

"Yeah but that doesn't answer my—"

"I'm really quite sorry, Detective," Briella interrupted Danny's rant. "But I think Steve should be the one to tell you any more than that." She switched topics abruptly, effectively cutting off Danny's questions. "So will it disrupt your investigation much if you take shifts sitting with Steve to keep him calm?"

Danny looked nonplussed, his hands moving as though he wasn't quite sure what to do. Chin stepped forward, a hand on Danny's shoulder stilling him as he said, "No, we can manage both."

"Thank you," Briella said sincerely. "It will be a great help."

"Hey, he's our friend, too," Danny grumbled. Briella bit her lip and looked away to hide her amusement as Danny looked first confused, then surprised, then annoyed as he realized what he'd said.

"I'm sure Steve will appreciate the sentiment, Detective," she finally said.

That was it. Danny was kidnapping Grace, and moving back to Jersey. Screw Hawaii.

* * *

Briella had volunteered to stay with Steve until his teammates could work out a suitable schedule to include the investigation and sleep—not that any of them had thought of the latter when they were initially speaking about this schedule. That had been Briella's idea, and she was thankful for the silent force that was Chin Ho Kelly—his backup insistence had been necessary to divert Danny's wild irritation.

She watched the steady rise-and-fall of Steve's chest, narrowing her eyes at the nasal cannula that had replaced the ventilator keeping him breathing. The Navy and HPD had each lent several of their men to watch Steve's room for any possible danger, but Briella figured that they wouldn't see anyone in the hospital—at least, not in broad daylight. No, the more immediate dangers to this man under her care were the ones she couldn't see physically.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a slight chirp from her pocket. Frowning, she extracted her cell phone from her jacket and immediately grumbled as she answered, "Michael, I don't think I'm supposed to be on a cell phone in ICU."

"Sorry, Brie. Wanted to let you know that we've cleared the rubble that was once McGarrett's house. Don't see anything missing, but I can't find the box you told me to look for. I'm guessing your commander there must have hidden it, because it's obvious what these guys were here for. Minimal search damage, major shoot-to-kill damage."

"That's fine. I just want to make sure it's secure there. Call Raph, he'll be able to help you."

"Raph?" Michael's voice sounded distinctly like a whine. "Brie, Raph and I don't get along too great. You know that."

"He's the best at securing a perimeter," Briella returned sharply. "And you're not calling the shots. I want that house safe for Steve to return to once he makes it through this."

"You think he's going to _want_ to be here?" Michael pressed. "I mean, Lieutenant Rollins died in his bedroom, Brie."

Briella sighed again, briefly pressing her fingers against her temple. "We'll see what happens. In the meantime, focus on the task at hand."

"Yes, Boss."

Briella hung up the phone, cursing to herself as she looked up to check on Steve.

Two glassy, dull blue eyes blinked at her, half-hooded but alert.

Briella overturned the chair she had been occupying as she stood, rushing to his side. "Steve." His eyes met hers, blinking blearily. "Steve, do you hear me? Can you understand what I'm saying?"

A slight flicker, a furrowing of his brow. "Gabby…?"

Briella let loose a sigh, reaching to run her fingers over his clammy forehead. "You recognize me. That's good, Steve. That's good."

Steve struggled to focus on her, his lips moving as he said brokenly, "Don't…something…happened?"

"Yes, Steve. Something happened. Do you remember anything?" She already knew he didn't, just reading the confusion in his eyes as he watched her.

"Can't…not…much…" Steve's face contorted in agony, and he tried to roll away from her.

"Steve? Steve!" Briella tried to still his movements, but he thrashed against her. "A little help in here!" she called into the hallway, alerting the nearest nurse who came rushing in. "Steve, Steve, calm down…" She wrestled his arms as best she could, nearly climbing onto the bed with him to keep him down and as still as she could.

Briella threw a sharp glance at the nurse, who was holding the IV line which miraculously hadn't been pulled out yet by Steve's resistance. "Anytime now, Beatrice," Briella hissed. The nurse nodded, managing to add the sedatives to the IV. It took a few moments, but Steve's movements gradually slowed, then stilled. Briella nearly collapsed against him, breathing deeply in relief. Steve's eyes met hers once more, his lashes fluttering.

"Steve?" Briella asked, touching his cheek.

Steve's eyes alit in recognition, and he murmured groggily, "Gabriella…" Then his eyes rolled back, and he was out. Briella heaved a sigh, climbing to her feet as she shifted her hand from his cheek to his arm, squeezing it gently.

"I'm here, Steve. I'm here." She looked up at the nurse, who made a note on Steve's chart before leaving them. Briella watched her go, then leaned to murmur to the still commander. "I'm here…I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Kono dug her knee in between Alan Harlan's shoulder blades, smiling in a nearly-sadistic way at his cry of pain. "Wanna try that again?" she asked, referring to the man's attempt to squirm away from her just a moment ago.

"Oh, God—no, no, I won't try to run. Just please let me the hell up, you're breaking my arm!"

Kono jerked her grip suddenly, Alan's shoulder grinding painfully beneath her hands. "Trust me, I can do a lot worse than that," she said. "Now tell us about Ford Jones. Who hired him for the hit?"

Danny and Chin Ho stood nearby, and Danny nudged the Hawaiian slightly, giving him a wide-eyed look of surprise as he tilted his head in Kono's direction. "I've never seen her like this before," he muttered aside to Chin.

Chin smirked. "Wait 'til she gets _really_ angry," he returned, and Danny couldn't help but wonder if that was really a hint of _pride_ he detected in his friend's voice.

They'd followed Jones' history very carefully, and Kono had been the one to realize that Jones and Harlan had worked together regularly on low profile bank robberies along the coast. When they'd run Harlan's name through HPD, they'd found out that he was in Hawaii along with his buddy. It hadn't taken them long to track him down—Harlan was bad at covering his tracks.

The man moaned in agony, banging his head against the pavement. "God, you're a ferocious bitch! Ford woulda liked you." He choked out a laugh. "Woulda liked you a lot."

"I didn't ask you about what type he preferred," Kono growled, pulling on his arms tighter to incite a squeal of pain. "I asked you about the job he was working. Tell me who contracted Jones!"

"Man, I don't know nothing about no hit on a cop!" Alan screeched.

Kono looked up with a quirked brow to meet the gaze of her cousin as Chin knelt by Alan's head. "Nobody said anything about it being a contract to kill a cop," Chin said lowly.

Alan froze, then began to scream curses at them. "You goddamned cops! I hope Jones did a real number on that son of a bitch! I hope he hurt him good! Don't nobody in the streets of Hawaii like that McGarrett bastard. He's bad for busin—_ack_owowow_OW_ you bitch!" He spat, a vein pulsing in his temple at the sudden force with which Kono had just twisted his arm back. "You fucking bitch! I'll kill you, you bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"

"Down, girl," Danny said, joining Chin near Alan's head. "That's our partner you're talking about down there, you scumbag. You may want to watch how you speak—Kono here doesn't like hurtful words."

"Look—all I know is that this guy was someone Jones'd been talking to for awhile. Jones never spoke directly with the suit in charge, only this old ex-Navy freak and this other guy…weirdo with an accent."

"Okay, okay. This accented weirdo got a name?" Danny asked.

"Aw, fuck if I know, man! Can you call off your canine here?"

"Kono?"

Alan screamed again as Kono dug a knuckle into the pressure point behind his shoulder blade. "Fine!" he ground out. "Fine…dude's name was August."

"August what?" Danny prompted, nudging Alan with the toe of his shoe.

"I don't know, okay! He just said his name was August and him and the old guy were working for the suit to try and kill McGarrett. The old guy seemed to think it'd be fun, but it was like, personal for August."

"Okay. August with an accent," Danny said. "You've been a wonderful help, Mr. Harlan, thank you." Kono dragged Harlan up to his feet and released him to a police officer who stood nearby. Danny waited until she'd joined him and Chin before he tapped the back of his hand into his palm, listing what they'd learned. "So we've got a few players here—this August guy, the suit, and the old man…who I'm assuming is Body Number 15 from McGarrett's little warzone." His phone chirped once, and he scowled at it before he checked the text message. "God I hate messaging—why don't people just freakin' dial the number and talk—" His eyes went wide as they moved again over the message, checking to make sure it said what he thought it said.

"Danny?" Kono poked him.

He looked up at the cousins, his blue eyes blinking hard. "Steve woke up for a few minutes. Briella wants one of us to go see him, in case he comes to again."

There was a short pause as the three members of Five-0 shared a moment of silence. Then, Kono nudged Danny toward the Camaro. "You go on, Danny—we'll meet you there later."

Danny nodded his gratitude before he parted ways with them. Steve had woken up. Steve might wake up again soon. He couldn't help but send a short prayer of thanks heavenward, before he began praying again—praying that his partner would be okay.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N:_ For those of you who were waiting for it, here's one Danny and Steve encounter - the next big one will be in the next few chapters. LOL, I gotta admit, I'm kind of enjoying how back-and-forth everyone feels about Briella. Once again, thanks everyone for your feedback and support! Enjoy!

**_Disclaimer:_** H50 isn't mine.

Eleven

After hearing about what had transpired when Steve had awoken, Danny understood immediately why Briella was also sitting in the hospital room with him. He had listened patiently, propping his feet up against the bedrail as Briella spoke with him. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving his unconscious partner a speculative look. "Okay, so do you think he'll be waking up again anytime soon?" he asked the psychiatrist, who shook her head and raised her hands in a shrug.

"The last time we tried to sedate him, it only took a few hours for the effects to wear off. He needs to remain calm, before he does himself worse injury," she returned.

"Yeah, I got it."

Briella studied him as he watched Steve sleep. When he glanced over at her, he raised both brows in silent query. "How are you, Detective?" Briella asked.

"How am I?" he echoed. "I'm not the one riddled with holes and bruises, Doc."

"Oh, I know, I know," Briella said with that same disarming smile, waving one hand flippantly. "That's not what I'm asking. I mean, how _are_ you?"

"How many times can you ask me the same question?" Danny asked, his hands waving about as he spoke. "I mean, my partner's lying in ICU; he apparently didn't have time to call me and warn me that he was in trouble; he managed to piss off this August with an accent and some suit; we don't know anything about this guy and I've got no…what?" Danny said when he noticed Briella staring at him.

"August?" Briella repeated skeptically. "Who did you hear that name from?"

"A small-time crook who knew one of the hitmen," Danny supplied. "Why?"

Briella leaned forward. "Tell me exactly what happened." Something about the fire that burned in her eyes reminded Danny of Steve when he figured something out on a case.

So he did as she said, illustrating the few details they'd extracted from the investigation so far. As he spoke, he watched Briella's expression take on a full range of emotions—from surprise, to shock, to horror, to anger. When he finished recapping Kono's little session with Harlan, a silence passed over them both, and he waited for a moment to allow Briella to digest the information.

"Well…" she said at last. "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised."

"I take it you know August with an accent?" Danny assumed.

"I think I do. You're probably more familiar with his cousin…Victor."

Danny's face went blank, then grew skeptical. "Victor…Victor Hesse?" Briella gave a slow nod. "Aw, for crying out loud! We just locked that asshole up, and now he's got a _cousin_?"

"That would be correct." Briella sat back and crossed her arms, her fingers steepling against her arm. "But I have no idea who the 'suit' could be…"

He left her to her thoughts for a few minutes, and went to the hall to call Chin. The Hawaiian detective answered on the second ring, "Any news?"

"Briella knows August."

"Oh?" Chin's curiosity was obviously piqued, and Danny heard the echo of the phone change as he was put on speaker.

"Apparently August is the cousin of one Victor Hesse," Danny supplied.

Kono and Chin both made noises of aggravation and intense displeasure. "Hesse's cousin has something to do with the attack on the boss?" Kono sounded like she wanted to hit something. "Want us to pay Hesse a visit?"

"No…not yet. I want to find out more about August first. How are things on your end?"

"Following up with a couple of Harlan's buddies who tried to make things difficult, then we're headed over your way," Chin informed him.

"Okay. So far, Sleeping Beauty's staying calm, so I'll see you when you get here."

"Sure thing, brah."

Danny disconnected the call and returned to Steve's room. Briella remained in the same stated he'd left her in, so Danny let his gaze wander worriedly back to Steve. With one sweep of his gaze, he caught sight of the measure of Steve's pulse, steady and even, and watched the machines feeding him oxygen through the cannula—Steve had once told Danny he hated the feel of tubes being shoved down his throat, and Danny had agreed wholeheartedly. Waking up to a feeling that someone stuck a straw down your throat was equally strange and unpleasant.

He wondered, for a moment, if Steve would remember that conversation the next time he awoke.

He frowned. When Steve was better, Danny decided he might kick his ass for all the worry he was putting the team through. Danny didn't like seeing Steve go down. He especially didn't like waiting until the big guy picked himself back up—the moments he had to hold his breath until Steve pushed up off the ground, dusted off his hands, and smirked that lopsided smirk of his. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Ever.

He became aware of a pair of sky blue eyes fixed upon him, and swiveled a look at Briella, who smiled at him. There was something different in this smile, something not unlike knowingness. He glared at her. "And what's that look, Dr. Engel?"

She rested her cheek against her curled knuckles, chin in palm. "Just observing."

"Observing what?" demanded Danny.

"You're a very unfiltered man, Detective," Briella stated conversationally. "Very expressive. You like to be heard, and it's easier for you to learn and to express yourself by using your hands. You were probably very handy when you were married, but now you're feeling idle. You've been itching to get your hands around someone's neck for what happed to your partner." She tilted her head slightly. "And as angry as you'd like to be at him for worrying you, you really aren't angry at Steve at all."

"Maybe you should focus some of that psychoanalyzing power on Steve," Danny suggested uncomfortably.

"You're feeling intruded upon," Briella remarked, holding up a soothing hand. "Forgive me." Her smile then became somewhat amused. "Although I hope you don't mind my saying, you're very adorable when you're flustered."

Danny felt his cheeks warm and looked pointedly away, ignoring Briella's quiet giggle as he checked again on his partner, hearing something out-of-place amongst the machines. It took him a moment to realize that he could hear Steve murmuring quietly. With a glance aside at Briella, he rose and moved to Steve's bedside. Briella joined him.

He couldn't quite make out what Steve was saying, his speech garbled and thick, but it didn't take him long to realize that his partner was in the throes of a very bad dream. Steve's hands were fisted in the sheets, and his heart rate began to escalate. Briella took Steve's hand, and nodded to Danny to take the other one as she placed a hand on his forehead. "Steve, shhhh," Briella said.

Steve's muscles began to tense, his body coiling to strike.

"Damn." Briella shot Danny a glance. "Talk to him, Danny. Let him know you're here."

Danny glanced at her quickly, then back to Steve. He leaned close, his grip on Steve's hand tightening. "Steve, hey, it's me. I'm here, buddy," he said awkwardly. There was a pause, Steve relaxing for a mere instant, then Danny heard something that brought pinpricks of heat to the back of his eyes.

"Dan…no…?"

Danny breathed a sigh of relief, and lifted a hand to Steve's uninjured shoulder. "Yeah, Steve. I'm here." Steve's muscles relaxed. "Danno's here, buddy."

Briella tensed at once across from him, and Danny spared her a look before Steve suddenly bucked up from the bed, knocking them both back with an inhuman strength he could only compare to a wild animal, wounded and cornered.

"DANNY!" Steve howled, the sound making something in Danny's chest pinch uncomfortably. "DANNY! LET HIM GO! _DANNY!_"

"_Steve!_" Danny and Briella scrambled to their feet, Briella keeping calm long enough to hit the call button for the nurse before they both dove for Steve. Danny's hand brushed against the wound in Steve's shoulder, and he cursed as Steve gave a hiss of pain. "Briella, what do I do?" he shouted across the bed.

"Keep talking to him! Try to get through to him…and so will I." Danny didn't know what she meant, but he watched her hand as she pressed it to Steve's forehead, and then he bent to his task, murmuring to Steve as quickly as he could to try and calm the man.

* * *

At first, it's just dark. He can't see. He murmurs to himself, trying to find his way through the pitch black. There's a voice, a woman's voice, yelling into the darkness.

_You never cared about me! You're just like Dad!_

He tries to respond to her, tries to reassure her that he _does_ care, just wants what's best for her. She doesn't listen. And then the first gunshots start.

A woman cries out for him, screaming his name. A light comes on, illuminating the blonde girl who he protectively ushers into the safest part of the house, the cubby hole beneath the stairwell. He rushes toward the scream. The dark-haired woman, despite felling one of the intruders, is bleeding. He kneels, scoops her up into his arms, holds her as she whispers unintelligible words to him, and tries to say goodbye to him.

"No, no, no, no…"

_"Steve, shhhh_…"

He doesn't listen, just stares at the blood on his hands as he lowers the dark-haired woman whose name continues to elude him to the floor, to the red carpet. He hears movement, and tenses.

"Steve, hey, it's me. I'm here, buddy."

He relaxes—he knows that voice. He can place the blue eyes and the blonde hair, and sees the tie, but the name eludes him. He can remember a nickname, something he calls the man out of affection—covered by attempts to get a rise out of his partner.

"Dan…no…?"

There is an exhale of air, and he searches through the dark for his partner. "Yeah, Steve. I'm here. Danno's here, buddy."

Danno. Danny. His partner. The relief barely lasts a moment before he can see the face of his enemies grinning as they hold the blonde detective down, gun to his head. He tries to break free of the bonds that hold him, tries to reach his partner.

"DANNY! DANNY! LET HIM GO! _DANNY!_"

He can't reach his partner in time. Can't reach Danny. Can't save him. The gun goes off, and suddenly rage fills him as his partner's eyes grow blank.

_"Steve!"_

He fights, struggles against the darkness that holds him. Two voices are speaking to him, intermingled from the dark.

The first, his partner's. "Steve, c'mon man, stop struggling…calm down. I've got you. You're safe."

_"Do you hear Steve? Your partner's all right. He's here. You're all right. You're together."_ Gabby. He focuses on her words, trusts them, listens to his partner.

"Steve…hey, you're okay…you're okay. It's all going to be okay."

_I hear you._

Then the numbness begins to spread in his arm, and he releases his mind to the comfort.

* * *

Danny was exhausted by the time Chin and Kono arrived. He didn't realize just how much fight Steve had in him, even when injured. The night terrors seemed to be exacerbated by the meds Steve was on, and Briella had administered morphine in place of the other medications they'd been using—hoping the morphine would alleviate Steve's pain and keep him calm, and perhaps decrease the symptoms of post-traumatic stress.

Kono and Chin Ho found Danny in Steve's room, tie loosened and expression vacant as he watched over Steve. "Hey, brah," Chin said, settling a hand on Danny's shoulder. "You okay?"

Danny shook himself free of his thoughts, and blinked up at the cousins. "Oh. Hey," he said blearily, then stood and stretched. Several vertebrae realigned with popping sounds, and Danny winced.

"You look like crap," Kono said plainly.

"Thanks." Danny shot her a look. "You guys find anything?"

"Nothing much." Chin handed him a file. "We looked up August's jacket. Not much on him, though. Looks like he kept a low profile, unlike his cousins."

"Asked around on the streets, no news." Kono gave a slight shrug. "Whoever this guy was, he didn't have a lot of connections in Oahu. The suit Harlan talked about seems to have everyone too scared to talk."

"There is one positive lead." Briella entered the room, her hair wound into a loose bun though she looked strangely energized. "Mary Ann is waking up. I'll be able to speak with her in a few hours."

Danny almost deflated with relief. "That's great."

"Keep in mind…" Briella lifted one finger in a gesture for patience. "This may take a few sessions before Mary can fully remember what happened."

"Yeah, we understand, Doc." Briella turned her attention onto Chin, then Kono, her blue eyes warm. Danny leaned toward the Hawaiians, muttering, "Watch it—that's her Jedi mind powers at work."

"So nothing new about August Hesse came up?" Briella surmised. "The three of you look exhausted. Perhaps you should take some time to sleep while I wait for Mary Ann."

"Can't," Danny responded, scrubbing at his eyes with his palms. "Who'd stay with Steve?"

"I'll watch over Steve. Mary won't be ready for awhile. One of you can stay here, if you like, to take over once I talk to Mary."

"I'll stay," three voices chorused, then the members of the team studied one another in bemusement.

Briella smiled warmly at them. "Danny, you've already taken your shift," she said. "Go home, get some sleep. Visit Grace. You've already called her but I'm sure she'll want to see you and to hear how Steve is doing. Chin, Kono, you've already worked out a schedule."

"I'm next," Kono said, lifting a hand. "I'll sleep here."

"All right. Chin, Danny, go on home. We'll see you in a few hours," Briella said, the same smile still intact.

Chin exchanged a few quiet words with his cousin and Danny, then smiled at Briella before the detectives departed. Briella watched Kono settle into the reclining chair by Steve's bed, and took her own seat on the other side of the bed while the youngest member of the team curled into a ball and to try to sleep. Briella smiled upon the sight, and relaxed into her own chair, keeping a watchful eye on both the commander and the rookie.

She wasn't sure if the morphine would work. She hoped it would, but in all honesty, she had no way of being certain. She checked her phone to see if she'd gotten any news from Michael, but there was none.

She settled back in her seat, and breathed a heavy sigh. She hoped her conversation with Mary Ann would go smoothly so she could provide the team with more information. Somehow, she knew that that was a lot to ask of the McGarrett Family.


End file.
